


love yourself with my heart

by bamook (ultearsfall)



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Spider-Man Fusion, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Discussions of death, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Irresponsible Decisions, Loneliness, M/M, Pining, actually a lot of video game references, also a lot of focus on brotherly dynamic, annoying amounts of overwatch, brief spider description, chenle runs a spider-man fan account, drug mention, johnny is practically aunt may, markhyuck bffs, very introspective ig, yet another spider-man au that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 64,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultearsfall/pseuds/bamook
Summary: in which, after a concerning sequence of events, mark becomes spider-man and watches his entire world change around him.(he falls in love with his best friend, too.)
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas, johnjae renhyuck nd some others mentioned, markhyuck bait -_-
Comments: 55
Kudos: 176





	1. friday (or, the prologue which precedes mark's tragedy)

**Author's Note:**

> hello it's me ! irresponsible me
> 
> i wrote this in december and promptly forgot about it for several months until mmcmb gave me another headache so i thought i would finish it >:) 
> 
> pretty much this is "spider-man: but what if we focused on the consequences of heroism AND the fun stuff"... because i can't write something that ISN'T reflective apparently (mmcmb i'm talking to u... yeah its been months since i updated but I'm working i promise) yeah this is kind of an introspective piece for me
> 
> so enjoy my reprieve... lighthearted with a nice amount of Sad too... i put a lot of work into this and spider-man is my favorite superhero so please enjoy it. keep in mind that this is the Prologue so there's no spidey action just yet. be patient ;)
> 
> also everyone's ages r fucked up don't read too much into it <3

_Mark is normal._

_That’s the only way his life can possibly be defined: painfully and almost pitifully normal._

_Mark was born in Vancouver, eighteen years ago- he’d just celebrated his birthday the month before with a grocery store-bought cake and candles so messily arranged that it should’ve been a crime- to two loving parents and an older brother. They’d left when he was young, too young for him to really even remember it, and relocated to America’s jewel, New York City. The city that never sleeps, full of bustling cars and crowds and noise and light. His parents found a little cozy home in Queens and rooted their family there, not expecting to leave anytime soon._

_Now, it’s just him and his brother, Johnny, in a shrimpy two-bedroom apartment. But that’s okay. Because things change and will never stop changing, no matter how unprepared you are for them to change._

_He’s a senior in high school, the one closest to his house, as it’s always been._

_So, there’s not much in his story’s pages._

_But, he’s always believed that one day, there could be more. That the notebook he calls his life could one day be filled to the brim with so many details and adventures that he would have to cram the words into the paper’s thin lines, overflowing with the excitement etched into their letters. He hopes._

_Mark’s head is always in the clouds, like this. Imagining what could be instead of what is. Donghyuck calls him scatterbrained when he spaces out and clumsy when he inevitably trips over something in his path because he’s thinking. He’s always thinking about something- something far off- even when he should be focusing on his schoolwork or his part-time job down at the florist on the corner. But, even when he knows he can’t focus, he still works hard, because he has expectations to live up to, colleges to get accepted into, friends to make laugh (there’s nothing better than making other people smile, right?) Above all else, Mark is a hard worker._

_Nevertheless, he’s a pragmatist, though. Things like that are for stories, and stories are stories for a reason. They aren’t real, they don’t come true. There’s probably a kid somewhere on Earth that wants Shrek to come to life. Doesn’t mean he will._

_Mark’s happy with living alone with Johnny and going to a normal high school and having his friends. He’s okay with being normal._

_But, on a Friday no more suspecting than a singular page in a book, that all changes._

* * *

It starts like this:

Mark drags his feet as he walks through the double doors leading into the school building, holding back a groan. It's Friday, it's windy and rainy, and he has a chemistry test that he _most certainly_ didn't study for. 

(Mark is completely comfortable with blaming Donghyuck for that latter part; Mark _had_ planned on cracking open his notebook upon returning home to review the notes that he had hastily taken in between his teacher’s words- illegible for the most part- but Donghyuck had called him around five-thirty, energetic as always, and told him to get on Overwatch. 

Mark wasn't going to say _no_. They proceeded to lose all of the games that they played.)

“I think that's your own fault,” Renjun says, instantly after Mark relays his grievances for the day, munching loudly on a carrot. Chenle nods enthusiastically next to him just as he steals one of the carrots for himself, swinging it around menacingly in front of Mark’s face. It takes everything in himself for Mark not to knock it to the ground. “Overwatch isn't an excuse to not study. You have like five hundred hours on the damn thing already, and you're almost _failing_ chemistry. Priorities?” Renjun is never one to shirk his words.

Since classes don't start until nine, Mark and his friends had made it a tradition over the years to gather in the school’s cafeteria for an oftentimes shitty breakfast. Renjun is always the first to arrive since his parents are his only ride and they leave for work at seven-thirty in the morning; Chenle usually comes striding along second because, and he’s quoting the man himself, he “has nothing better to do.”

(They've all speculated, on various occasions, that Chenle is more nocturnal than anything; you’d catch him fast asleep in all of his classes, but if you texted him for the answers to your algebra homework at three a.m on a Tuesday, he would reply instantly.)

Mark is never one of the early birds, though- he’d made it a habit over the years to come to school right before the first bell rang, stumbling in with the other stragglers to make their way to their lockers to get their books in time for class. Renjun, as always, would call him irresponsible.

He’d only made it to school early because Johnny had been making a ruckus in the kitchen doing _something_ Mark didn't want to know about, especially at seven in the morning. Mark had awoken to the sound of clattering pots and pans, almost as if Johnny was _trying_ to be a nuisance. Being here this early only made him feel out of place.

“Well.” Mark starts, prepared to defend both himself and his actions, but a shout from his left cuts him off. Before he can even get a word out, there's an arm slung around his shoulders, and a wet kiss is being pressed to his cheek. 

“Good morning!” Donghyuck chirps just as Mark pushes him off, wiping at his cheek. Donghyuck had left a concerning amount of slobber in his wake, and the boy in question cackles maniacally. It takes everything in Mark’s power not to shove him again.

This, of course, is characteristic of Donghyuck; loud, sarcastic, overly-physically-affectionate, Widowmaker-main Donghyuck. He’s a year behind Mark- a junior- but he seems to have been with him for as long as he can remember.

Donghyuck is all smiles as he plops down in one of the plastic chairs, and Mark winces as he hurls his bag carelessly to the hard floor. Instantly, Donghyuck leans forward to rest his elbows on the table and to prop his chin up with both of his palms, regarding the other inhabitants of the table. Chenle is barely paying any attention now, still absentmindedly munching on his stolen carrot and scrolling through his phone rapidly. One second, he'll be as attentive as a lion is to its prey, but if you glance away for even a moment, Chenle is prone to do a complete one-eighty. To Mark, Chenle is the most enigmatic of them all. He’s sure Chenle knows this. 

“You're early,” Renjun observes, raising an eyebrow. “Look, you've made it in time for first period. Never thought I would see this day.”

“Hey!” Donghyuck exclaims, even though everybody else at the table knows Renjun’s analysis holds true, even Donghyuck himself. Donghyuck is a zombie in the mornings, every morning, without fail. Taeyong- Donghyuck’s older brother a few years older than Mark- might drop him off at or before eight-thirty, but Mark can count on one hand the amount of times Donghyuck has actually joined the others for breakfast (Not like Mark is ever there, either.) He and Mark share their first-period chemistry class (and their sixth period English class, since Donghyuck takes advanced classes), and he consistently arrives just as the final bell rings. 

“Anyway,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes at Renjun, now twirling around to face Mark once again. “Did you study for chem?”

Mark scoffs. “We were too busy getting destroyed-” 

“No excuses!” The younger suddenly shouts. “Nevermind. I didn’t either. We’re gonna fail together like _real_ friends.” Donghyuck raises a closed fist, and Mark, smirking, bumps it with his own. 

“You know it.”

On the other side of the table, Renjun glances at the watch on his wrist, which in turn prompts Mark to twist away from Donghyuck to glance at his phone’s clock. _8:40._

“Everyone’s running kinda late today,” Mark observes, considering he’s usually not even there. Donghyuck, his partner in the crime of tardiness, nods briskly. 

“Jeno’s always prompt. Jaemin… not so much.” Donghyuck notes.

“But I’m here!”

A new voice breaks into the conversation, delightfully loud for the morning quiet. A few heads at the tables surrounding them lift up to look for the suspect, but Mark already knows better.

Yukhei comes skipping over to the table, weak morning sunshine streaming in behind him, glimmering against his deep black locks as he plops down in the chair on Mark’s left. Today he’s wearing a bright orange hoodie, handsome against his tanned skin and somehow still large on his long frame. Yukhei immediately reaches a big hand over to ruffle Mark’s hair- hair that Mark really didn't _do,_ so there's nothing much he can complain about- smiling all the while. He's just as physically affectionate as Donghyuck is, if not more, with the added bonus of being the size of a skyscraper and the arms of a jackhammer. 

(Maybe he’s exaggerating, but it _feels_ like that.)

Yukhei is all long limbs and big smiles, full of positive energy flowing from a source so deep in his heart that not even someone equipped with the strongest shovel could ever dig it out. To Mark, he’s like a pine tree: evergreen. Even when the rest of the trees around it have died from bone-chilling cold, it’ll still stand strong and stark against the white snow, a beacon of hope for life in the most barren of times. When he looks at Yukhei, he sees the years of laughter and warmth that have passed between the two of them- since they were children- still just as clear a light as it was when they first met, six and seven years old, Mark with a busted knee and Yukhei with the helping hand and crooked smile, complete with gaps where teeth were still growing in. Sometimes, when Yukhei smiles, Mark imagines that he can still see the missing teeth. 

Without even trying, Mark’s lips curl up into a smile, and Yukhei’s gets impossibly bigger. Looking into each other’s eyes like this is sometimes all he needs for his day to turn for the better; the familiarity and alacrity there could calm the worst of storms.

“Good morning,” Yukhei says, a little too loudly. Donghyuck peers at him from where he’s sitting on Mark’s right, eyes big.

“You’ve got a lot of energy for this early on a Friday morning,” He observes, casually resting his chin on Mark’s shoulder. Before the latter can say anything, Donghyuck continues. “Thought you had a test in Euro today.”

Ah, yes. Yukhei’s AP European History class that he took _for fun_ because he had _an extra space in his schedule_ . A normal person would, you know, take something like Music Appreciation or Piano. Yukhei, in his eternal grasp for knowledge, chose to take an AP European History class even though he has all the history credits he needs to graduate _as well as_ two other AP classes to deal with. Mark shivers whenever he thinks of his friend’s schedule.

“I do!” His voice booms, and Chenle is finally glancing up from his almost religious scrolling. At his quirked eyebrow, Yukhei continues, just as he seats himself in one of the chairs that made him look almost comical from its size. “I studied really hard for it, so I’m not worried. Ask me anything about rococo or neoclassicism and I can answer.”

“Sounds awful,” Donghyuck mutters, but his voice is muffled by his position. Yukhei just smiles and shrugs, like he always does. 

“I think your Music Theory class sounds like hell on earth,” Yukhei pokes back in good fun.

“Touche.” 

The table’s conversation tapers off into smaller ones: Renjun and Chenle are debating about something on the younger’s phone in rapid Mandarin, and Donghyuck and Yukhei are quizzing each other on their respective upcoming assessments, even though Yukhei had insisted that he wouldn’t be needing it. Donghyuck, however, most certainly did; Mark does too, but he chooses to keep his silence when Donghyuck brings up a vocab term that Mark doesn’t even remember learning about in the first place. The bell rings as it always does at 8:50, meant to give students ample time to reach their lockers and acquire the necessary materials for their classes. At its tone, the table’s inhabitants all groan seemingly in sync, Chenle the loudest (for no discernable reason) as they all move to stand. Renjun looks towards the doors in confusion.

“Jaemin, Jeno, and Jisung didn’t show,” He notes, raising one of his eyebrows. Donghyuck shrugs as they all move in one pack towards the double doors, lifting both of his arms over his head in a dramatic stretch.

“Jeno and Jaem are probably skipping,” Donghyuck brushes ahead of their tiny group and turns around, facing them now as he walks backwards. “Dunno about Jisung.”

Students mill around them, parting almost like a sea as they note Donghyuck’s path. Mark had long since stopped trying to contain his almost explosive energy, no matter how much it seemed to impact everyone else around them. Now, he just offers a shrimpy smile in response. 

“Doctor’s appointment!” Chenle chimes in, wrapping his headphones around his hands to shove them in his pocket. 

“Of course,” Mark sighs. “Lucky.” 

Mark bids all his friends farewell at once as he reaches his locker, spare Donghyuck- who would be heading to chemistry with him- and Yukhei, who pokes Mark’s arm as he twists in his combination. Confusedly, Mark spins his neck to face the taller.

“I gotta talk to you about something later,” Yukhei says, almost sheepish. Mark narrows his eyes. That’s not very in character, unless, of course, he wants something. He _definitely_ wants something. “Meet me in the library during study hall?”

Mark purses his lips. “Am I gonna like this something?” 

At Mark’s expression, Yukhei’s grin widens. His eyes always twinkle when he smiles playfully like that, like tiny little stars in the night sky void of any sort of disturbance, and they crinkle up into something kind and gentle. Every time, Mark watches with fascination and wonders if Yukhei does it on purpose, to make other people feel safe and sane. “Maybe.”

Mark huffs, and turns back to his now open locker, making sure to grab his Econ textbook to tuck it under his arm. With his free hand, he hikes his backpack further up his shoulder. _Eyes off_ , a quiet voice reminds him.

“Okay,” He acquiesces, and Yukhei pumps a fist into the air. Mark watches the movement with mirth, and feels warmth start to tickle underneath his shirt collar. “I haven’t agreed to anything _yet_.” Mark jabs his pointer finger out at his counterpart, shaking it back and forth.

“Doesn’t matter!” Yukhei’s voice is as loud and cheery as ever as he backs into the crowds of students moving about. “I’ll see you!” He shouts, and then he’s gone. Mark pretends he doesn’t see the hop in his step.

Here’s the story:

Mark has known Yukhei since they were both a few years past toddlerhood, back when they couldn’t even speak to each other. The friendly hand that had reached out to him pulled him without even a thought or a word, and when Mark delivered his thanks, the older hadn’t made any move to respond; instead, he smiled that warm smile that Mark has come to love seeing every day and waved as he took his leave. 

( _“He’s an exchange student,”_ Mingi- a classmate whom Mark periodically spoke to- had whispered as quietly as he could have been expected to in his seven-year-old genius. Mark’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ as he observed the tall boy situated near the front of their classroom.

 _“What does that mean?_ ” He asked, and Mingi shrugged.

“ _I think it means he’s from a different country,”_ Mingi observed. _“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t talk so much_ . _”_

Mark remembers having nodded slowly, and suddenly, a burning sort of determination had crept into his soul. 

_“Cool.”_ He muttered. _“I’m gonna be friends with him.”_ )

And just like that, they _were_. Mark- and Donghyuck, of course, the tiny little brat from the grade under who never seemed to leave him alone- somehow befriended Yukhei with ease, even with the language barrier in place. When Mark had finally managed to squeeze a proper introduction from the boy, he remembers feeling like rainbows and sunshine had burst from all corners of the world.

They’d stuck with each other through thick and thin, through years of tough classes and life’s challenges, crushes and tearful confessions with disastrous results. When their friend group expanded to accommodate three kids in Donghyuck’s grade, so that he could finally stop stumbling around after his upperclassmen like he’d done all through elementary school, and when two kids younger than him came drifting along he found out that he could spoil them. There was no Mark without Yukhei, no Yukhei without Mark. 

Mark found himself at all of Yukhei’s basketball games after he decided to join the team in middle school, their friends in tow, cheering him on until his throat was raw. Similarly, Yukhei came along to all of Mark’s delightful old chorus recitals before he retired that segment of his life not that many years ago, always a friendly face in the crowd that Mark would search for in his most uncertain moments. 

Yukhei had been there in his worst moment. In their sophomore year, when Mark’s entire world was beaten down until there was almost nothing left, Yukhei had offered him a wordless shoulder, one that offered no empty consolations nor apologies that carried no weight. Yukhei had seen Mark’s mother as almost a second mother of his own, and in those first few months, Yukhei was asleep at his and Johnny’s apartment more than he slept in his own bed. When Mark was forced to watch his twenty-three year old brother shoulder the weight of the universe, Yukhei’s hands were there to pet his hair and lull him into silent dreams.

Maybe that’s where Mark let the lines between them blur. 

Mark is unsure of a lot of things, and he’s learned that naming feelings of uncertainty only leads to more uncertainty; but he knows one thing, and that’s that looking into Yukhei’s eyes makes him feel like he’s home among flowers and sunlight.

Mark slams his locker shut and is met with Donghyuck’s face, as smug and mischievous as ever. When Mark meets his eyes, the younger wiggles his eyebrows and dances closer to Mark so that he can wrap an arm around his shoulders to steer him in the direction of their classroom. Donghyuck scoots impossibly close. 

“You should quit flirting in the hallway.” He whispers dramatically, in that very good Donghyuck way.

Mark promptly shoves Donghyuck’s offending arm away, watching on in glee as he hurtles into a tiny freshman dashing down the hall with a pile of books in his hands. Mark doesn’t slow his pace as Donghyuck lays apologies upon the child, and only decelerates when the younger of the two finally catches back up.

“It’s not like that,” Mark sighs just as they brush past a few stragglers to enter their chemistry classroom. Donghyuck repeats Mark’s words in a cheap mimicry of his voice, but raises his hands in surrender when Mark turns a fiery glare in his direction. “You _know_ it’s not like that.”

The two of them drop into their seats near the middle of the classroom, the two closest to the window, Donghyuck immediately reclining and poking his legs far out beyond the edges of the desk. Mark opts for a more moderate position, crossing his legs under the bottom of the table, resting his chin on his palm and maintaining eye contact with his friend. Their teacher had definitely made an irresponsible decision in seating them next to each other; though Mark prided himself on being a ‘stellar’ student (though the word had its limits), Donghyuck never had so many qualms. More often than not, Donghyuck and Mark distracted each other while they were supposed to be doing their work, drawing pictures on each other’s papers or mumbling about something or the other while the teacher was lecturing. It, in fact, had gotten them detention on one or two occasions- after the teacher had reached her limit, of course- and she’d _tried_ to move them, but when she walked into the classroom the next morning to find Donghyuck firmly planted in the seat that was _supposed_ to belong to sweet and polite Alison Meyers, she’d simply sighed and started her lecture anyway.

“But…” Donghyuck teases, scooting closer to Mark’s desk with his. The table legs scraping against the floor turn a few heads in their direction, and in response Mark makes a noise at him that’s somewhere between a hiss and a cough. 

“But nothing,” Mark snaps, even though there isn’t any _real_ fire to his words. They do this all the time, being best friends and all; Donghyuck notices almost everything that Mark does, even if he doesn't want to, and vice versa. Donghyuck has definitely caught him staring after Yukhei far too many times for it to be friendly, and Mark _knows_ this, but he really doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to talk about it because there’s really nothing to talk about. Or, talking about it will make it seem real. He doesn’t want that. 

Donghyuck doesn’t seem to want to push the issue when he looks at the dark cloud gathering over Mark’s visage and the pout pulling down at his lips. That, or he doesn’t trust Mark to not bring up Renjun. That’s a story for another day.

Mark is snapped out of his reverie when the sounds of their teachers heels against the cold floor finally enter their classroom, and he shoots his head up. He’d completely forgotten about the test. The test that he and Donghyuck definitely are _not_ prepared for.

He gulps as he meets Donghyuck’s eyes, but he finds a sardonic sort of acceptance twinkling there. Mark jumps a bit when the bell rings, followed by the loud sound of their teacher letting the door slam. Donghyuck winks.

“Alright, class. Put everything away.”

* * *

Mark comes drifting out of their classroom like a ghost, because there’s no way he got anything more than a fifty percent on that test. There’s no way. 

He groans when he finally makes it into the hallway, and Donghyuck isn’t too far behind with a groan of his own and a hand clapped onto Mark’s shoulder.

“We fought well,” Donghyuck sounds as if he’s muffling a sob, but Mark knows it to be a ploy. He plays along, though, grasping the hand that Donghyuck has grasping onto Mark’s shoulder to pull him closer into a half-hug. 

“All jokes aside, what the _hell_ was that?”

Mark shrugs, because he doesn’t know one bit. He’d thought that he had at least a little bit of a grasp on the concepts, but when the paper had been laid out in front of him, not a single thought rose to challenge the questions. He scribbled in the answers that he _thought_ he knew and tried his hardest on those he didn’t understand at all; Mark knows, despite his best efforts, that he failed miserably. He can’t blame Overwatch for not knowing the content, but it’s much easier than blaming his own indifference.

“I think she has it out for us. What’re the odds she gave a special test just to the two of us?” Mark laughs at that, feeling a bit of the tension that the test had left him with bleed out. 

After bidding Donghyuck farewell with a lazy wave, Mark starts to make his way towards their school’s library, situated directly on the second floor. He and Yukhei share a study hall- senior privilege, probably- and spend most of their second periods in there together. 

It’s quiet in there, just as it always is in the morning. There’s a few students sitting here and there, silently scrolling on one of the desktops or flipping absentmindedly through books. Mark brushes right past all of them to move towards the library’s darkest corner, where the ceiling light had long since stopped working and instead cast a dim and weak glow over the table directly underneath it.

They always sit in the exact same place in their school’s elaborately organized library, right in front of the collection of almanacs and encyclopedias that Mark has never seen anybody touch. Mark’s unsure of why they always thought to sit there, nor can he recall the exact day that the tradition took root; all he knows is that once, a group of girls had sat there before they could get the chance to, and Yukhei had spent three minutes flirting with them just to get them to move. 

The one in question is sitting there already, face perched in his hands, his eyes already on Mark as the younger of the two comes over and carelessly tosses his backpack to the floor. 

Mark can’t remember the last time the two of them have done any _studying_ during their study hall. Instead, they usually pass the fifty minutes by talking about their school’s current happenings or just sitting in companionable silence as they scroll through their respective phones. After Mark had been gifted a Nintendo Switch for Christmas a little while ago, he’d started bringing it for them to play.

(For anybody wondering: don’t play Mario Kart in your school’s library, no matter how quiet you think you’re going to be.)

“Okay,” Mark scoots his chair closer to the table, and Yukhei mimics the action. “What did you have to tell me?”

Yukhei doesn’t waste a second. “Yangyang’s having a party tonight,” Yukhei says, tilting his head and pressing his hands together. Mark knows what's coming before he even says it. “Come with me?”

Mark huffs. Here they go again; their endless game of _Yukhei Wants To Go To Another Party_ . Last time, it had been Wooyoung’s. Mark barely knows who Yangyang _is._ “You know that-”

Yukhei moves his hands to place them on Mark’s shoulders, shaking the other back and forth. Mark just lets his head nod with the movements. 

“Mark, come on! For me?” Yukhei adds in a bad attempt at being cute, raising the pitch of his voice at the end of his statement. Mark lifts his hands to place on Yukhei’s triceps, trying to get him to stop moving, but it's to no avail; Yukhei always manages to overpower him when it comes to physical tasks, and his fingers press harder into Mark’s bony shoulders. Hyuck is quite the opposite- Mark could shove him off as easily as he attached himself to Mark in the first place. He's never been one for excessive physical contact (Donghyuck knows this, and exploits it) but when it comes to Yukhei, he finds, he just doesn't _want_ to push him off the same way when the older wraps his long arms around Mark’s shoulders like the koala Mark knows him to have been in his past life.

They're far too close, like this. Mark’s face feels warm, for some unidentifiable reason.

“You're gonna ditch me like last time.” Mark deadpans, recalling the July night that he had spent in the corner of some obscure apartment in Manhattan the _last_ time he let Yukhei drag him out somewhere that wasn't a restaurant or their local movie theatre. Mark very vividly remembers the talk that he was forced to have with Yukhei’s mother when he managed to drag the taller teen through the front door after he had drunk nearly his entire body weight in alcohol. Yukhei pouts in response. 

Parties have just never _appealed_ to Mark. Friday nights, for him, are reserved for copious amounts of Overwatch and for replaying Breath of the Wild for the third time. Going out to some loud apartment owned by someone he’s probably only tangentially acquainted with to be surrounded by a bunch of his intoxicated classmates just doesn't sound like _fun_. 

It's times like this when he wonders just how he and Yukhei managed to gravitate towards each other the way that they did, what with all of their differences. Of course, there are a billion things that they share- an unhealthy obsession with midnight ramen, for one- but there are just as many things that separate them. That must speak to the power of their friendship. Mark doesn't know one thing about marine biology (Yukhei’s fixation _this_ year) but he’s glad to hear him out every time he wants to bring it up. Likewise, Mark is sure that Yukhei doesn't find joy in learning about his Overwatch strategies- he, interestingly enough, is a man of Pokémon- but his eyes light up when he hears Mark ramble on about it the same way they do when he speaks of his own passions.

“I made a mistake! Please forgive me for my twisted ways,” Yukhei whines loudly, draping his entire top half over the table in front of them, pushing his books as he goes. His necklace clacks loudly against the hardwood there, and a girl a few tables down from where they are looks up at them angrily.

“Yukhei, shut _up_.” 

Yukhei does just that, snapping his mouth shut instantly. He blinks his wide eyes at Mark like he knows _exactly_ what he's doing. Yukhei might be good at convincing people to give him what he wants with that _look_ , but Mark has had years and years to adapt and overcome. 

“Puppy eyes don't work on me anymore, Yukhei. They stopped working in fifth grade. You know, now that I think about it, I don't think they ever worked.”

“They did! Once. But because you love me,” Yukhei puckers his lips and reaches out for Mark’s hands. The boy in question slaps his prying hands away, and Yukhei’s frown deepens in mock offense. Mark knows better, but he still feels his face heating up, probably bright red by now. Yukhei winks, and somehow, Mark feels his face get even warmer.

Mark considers it for a second. There’s really no reason for him to say _no_ , and from the way Yukhei stares him down, he knows it too. Mark doesn’t think that Yukhei knows just how dazzling that smile of his is, how easy it is to fall under its influence without the addition of terrible puppy eyes. 

Mark huffs.

“Fine, I’ll _go_ .” He grins, too, the words slipping past his lips in a playful manner. As soon as Mark utters them, Yukhei shoots out of his chair and cheers his victory with dozen _yes’s._ The girl down the table slams her book closed and stomps away. 

As Mark watches Yukhei dance in celebration, a quiet thought drifts into the forefront of his mind:

_What have I gotten myself into this time?_

* * *

(Now, Mark has never been into _destiny_ . Coincidence is a lot more logical, a lot more trustworthy. Besides, if he believes in destiny, he thinks he’d be hurt a _lot_ more often; thinking you’re _destined_ for one thing or another will only lead to heartbreak when you discover that you're really not. So no, Mark doesn't believe that “everything happens for a reason.”

He _may_ change his mind, for a number of reasons.)

The rest of the school day had passed with ease, chemistry long forgotten after acing a quiz in his economics class and an insightful lecture into the concept of _Catch-22_ in English. Now, he awaits Yukhei’s arrival in his bedroom.

(Before they’d bid each other goodbye, Yukhei had ruffled Mark’s hair and promised to swing by his and Johnny’s apartment to take him to Yangyang’s since Mark had never been there before.

When the news was passed onto Donghyuck, he, of course, took it well:

“Ooh, party with Yukhei.” Donghyuck wiggled his eyebrows. The yelp he let out when Mark slapped his hand with a piece of paper was satisfying, even though he cut it off quickly when the teacher peered in their direction. Mark could hear his voice now, telling them to focus on their worksheets, and thanked God that Donghyuck had thought better than making more noise.

“Not like that, and you know it.” Mark griped. A voice in the back of his head chirped up annoyingly, whispering: _but don't you want it to be_ ? Mark silenced it just as quickly. He spared a glance towards the doorway as if somehow Yukhei managed to overhear their conversation, even though he _knew_ Yukhei’s class was on the other side of the campus.

“Whatever you say,” Donghyuck said in a sing-songy voice, emphasizing each individual syllable. Mark rolled his eyes, but he knew his face was red. Dammit. No matter what, Mark’s face was always the window through his lies.)

Mark is on his back scrolling around aimlessly on Twitter when there’s a faint knock at his door. A quick glance towards his bedside clock tells him that it’s a little bit past six, and that means Johnny’s home.

Johnny, as enthusiastic as ever, pokes his head into the crack he opens in the door. “Hey, Mark.”

Mark tilts his head back, but doesn't sit up, staring at his brother from an upside-down position. “Hey.” 

Johnny takes that as an invitation to step further into the room, letting the door swing open in a wide arc. He’s still dressed in his work clothes- a simple white button up and a pair of black slacks- and his dyed-brown hair is swept up in a look almost too formal for the man Mark knows Johnny to be. He’s laid back, almost concerningly so; he never presses Mark too much on anything, even though Mark is aware of the expectations for his work. Johnny loves photography and movies, Chinese takeout, corny jokes, and above all else, Mark knows that Johnny loves him. 

Johnny had never planned to work for an accounting firm; his degree in film and media could let anybody know that. But, as Mark has heard from his brother far too many times: _sometimes, you have to make compromises for the good of the people around you_.

Johnny looks Mark up and down, taking in his outfit. “You goin’ somewhere?” 

Mark usually discards the clothes he wears for school almost as soon as he walks through the front door, trading them out for comfortable sweatpants and hoodies. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a plain white tee. 

“Yeah,” Mark finally sits up, holding his arms out in front of him for some leverage. “Yukhei invited me to a party.”

“Ooh,” Johnny raises one of his eyebrows, a sardonic smile teasing at his lips. He knows as well as Mark that it must've taken a lot of convincing. “My little brother, going to parties on Friday nights. Who woulda thought.” 

Mark rolls his eyes. At this point, they're gonna fall directly out of his skull. “Yeah, yeah. Going all the way to Yangyang’s just to be a wallflower.”

“Yangyang?”

Now that he really thinks about it, Mark doesn't know too much about Yangyang either. “I dunno. Some guy Yukhei knows from basketball, I think.” 

Yukhei, unlike Mark, is a social butterfly. Yukhei knows everybody and everybody knows Yukhei, some way or another. It could be from the grocery store on the corner or second period algebra in seventh grade; somehow, Yukhei just knows the name of every person in their school. That's what happens, Mark supposes, when he greets everyone around him with the same beam on his face and the same polite introduction.

“Hm. You know, back in my day-” Here he goes. “-me and Jaehyun crashed every party around school, every weekend. We used to get into a lot of trouble…” Johnny trails off a bit, eyes bright as he reminisces.

Now, Mark supposes, Johnny rarely has the time to do any of those things. He dedicates his life to his job and to Mark, to keeping them afloat in even the most uncertain of times. Sometimes, Mark has to _beg_ his brother to go out to the local bar with Jaehyun and Taeyong- Donghyuck’s older brother, and the entire reason the two of them met each other in the first place. Johnny hadn’t been all that sociable in grade school either, instead opting to stick around with the same few friends he’d known since _his_ diaper days. Unluckily for him, Johnny had carried that trait into adulthood. 

It had, of course, gotten worse after everything that had happened. Johnny went from a college student to a _guardian_ much more quickly than either of them could have ever imagined. Once, they’d giggled about Mark one day being the ring bearer at Johnny's wedding, no matter how old he was when the day would finally come. Now, twenty-six year old Johnny does nothing except worry about his brother. 

Just as Mark opens his mouth to respond, his phone dings from where it's still clutched in his hand. 

**yukhei 🎈**

i’m downstairs do you want me to come up 

**You**

No I’m coming hold on 

“That Yukhei?” 

“Yes, old man.” Mark sticks his tongue out and Johnny responds the same way, jumping out of Mark’s way as the younger dashes out of his bedroom to grab his shoes where they sit near the front door. As he’s pulling the second one over his heel, Johnny comes up lazily from behind him, leaning a hip on the back of the living room couch. “You can tell me about your party crashing when I come home.”

Johnny chuckles under his breath. “Uh huh. Stay safe, alright? No dumb decisions. We don't want a repeat of last time, do we?” 

Mark winces. No, he most certainly does not. 

“Keep an eye on Yukhei, too.” Johnny reaches a hand out to affectionately ruffle Mark’s black locks, smirking all the while. 

“Alright, alright.” Mark bats Johnny’s hand away and pats his pockets to make sure that both his phone and wallet are there before he turns to the door. “Bye. Love you.” 

“Love you too.”

At that, Mark flies through his front door and hops down the stairs on their floor excitably. He can't say that he’s pumped for the party, per say; instead, it's the prospect of being there with _Yukhei_. 

Despite everything that had happened last time. 

(Mark would like to give some context:

July had been a pretty wild month for their friend group; it was the summer before Mark and Yukhei’s senior year, before Jeno, Jaemin, Renjun, and Donghyuck’s junior years. It was a scary time for all of them. Yukhei thought that going to Wooyoung Jung’s house would be _stimulating,_ a good experience for all of them. It had ended with Yukhei barely able to _speak_ , Jeno slung over Renjun and Donghyuck’s shoulders, and Jisung sobbing into Chenle’s neck over a stray cat they saw outside on the way home. 

Needless to say, Mark does not want a repeat of July.)

When Mark walks out of the front door of their apartment building, the heavy door swinging shut behind him, he makes eye contact with Yukhei, and the world stops.

Yukhei had been standing directly in front of the double doors, away from the foot traffic on the sidewalk but also inconveniently close to anybody who might be exiting the complex. That, of course, is not what stops Mark in his tracks just feet away from where Yukhei is standing; no, it's the tight black jeans he's wearing, ripped around the knees; there's a black graphic tee tucked neatly into them, and over that Yukhei wears a simple leather jacket. For once, his ebony hair doesn't fall down like a curtain over his forehead; instead, it's done up elegantly.

Mark is so used to hoodie-and-sweatpants Yukhei that he doesn't even know what to say. _Should_ he say something? Would that make Yukhei feel awkward? That would probably make him feel awkward.

Of course, Mark opens his big mouth anyway. Because that's just what he does.

“Geez,” Mark says, his voice sounding more like a breath than coherent speech. “Is there something you need to tell me about you and Yangyang?”

Dumbass.

Yukhei snickers under his breath, and Mark tries to ignore the way he instinctively latches onto the sound. They're friends, he reminds himself. Best friends.

Naturally, the two of them start to move towards the subway station.

“No, it's not like that.” Mark knows the situations aren’t related, but he can't help but hear Yukhei in his own voice from earlier. “I just want to try something new, you know?”

“Mm.” Mark decides that silence is probably better for him than running his big mouth. 

And, just like that- Mark’s mind _most certainly_ not on the way Yukhei’s new jeans hug his thighs- the two of them set off in the direction of the setting sun towards the subway station.

* * *

They’re in the suburbs, Mark notes firstly. Secondly, Yangyang’s house is _humongous._ He can already see all of the silhouettes moving about inside through the windows, and there are at least a dozen people just milling about on the front lawn, conversing like it's nothing. Thirdly, he’s starting to regret his decision to ever come here in the first place. 

“Yukhei, what the hell?” He voices his thoughts aloud, twirling to face his counterpart, who’s already wearing an apologetic grin. Mark’s demeanor softens a bit just at seeing that, but he still feels the need to assert _something_. 

“Would you believe me if I told you I didn't expect it to be this bad?” Yukhei says guiltily. 

“No,” Mark mutters darkly under his breath. He turns back from Yukhei to face the house once more, his eyes following the copious amounts of people. He sighs.

For a moment, Mark considers turning right back around and taking his ass to the subway station once more, but he quickly chases that thought away. Yukhei asked him here for a reason, a reason he has yet to voice to Mark, and that means it's at least somewhat important to him. He huffs once more, and any pent up frustration he felt in the moment leaves his body like a dam. 

Now or never.

“Alright,” Mark says, and he takes one large step closer to the house. However, he doesn't hear Yukhei follow, and when he turns around, the older of the two still stands where he had moments ago, snickering under his breath. 

Yukhei raises a finger to wipe a nonexistent tear from his eye. “You're funny.” 

“Come _on,_ ” Mark knows his face is as red as a cherry from Yukhei’s teasing.

Yukhei shrugs nonchalantly and follows.

“Why is his house so _big_ ?” Mark observes as they step through the threshold into the home. There are people _everywhere_ , standing in walkways and sitting on couches, nursing solo cups and bottles of water alike. Just from a once-over, Mark notes that several of their classmates are there as well: Kunhang from his precalc class stands near the entrance, rambling on enthusiastically to a calm Dejun; Yugyeom from English looks half-dead as his best friend Bambam shakes him by the shoulder. Even Dahyun (who he swears he hasn't seen in _years_ , didn't she graduate?) is eating from a full family-sized bag of potato chips on the bottom stair.

Yukhei puts a finger on his chin as he considers the question for a second. “His dad works for some big shot scientific research company. I can't remember the name. The one upstate, you know?”

“Alchemax?” Mark questions. He remembers Taeyong having mentioned it offhandedly once while he and Donghyuck had been “studying for chemistry.”

(They’d powered up Overwatch as soon as Taeyong left the room. Respectively, Mark and Donghyuck earned an 84 and 82, somehow.) 

It's almost as if a lightbulb goes off over Yukhei’s head. He jumps and points a finger at Mark. “Yes! Alchemax.”

Yukhei waves to a few people around them as Mark still focuses on taking in his surroundings. It's loud, that's for certain; the bass from the music makes it feel as though the floor beneath his feet is vibrating, and his brain feels it too. For a moment, he gets lost in the beat of the song that's playing louder than all of the voices that attempt to rise above it.

Yukhei’s voice brings him back to reality. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go say hi to Yangyang, okay? I _promise_ I’m not ditching you. Jeno and Jaem said they're gonna be here too, alright?” Yukhei takes a step or two, but stops right in his tracks. “I’ll be back. Sit on the couch and like… stay there.”

Yukhei _promised_. Mark feels discomfort wrapping around him like a blanket, tightening ever so slowly until he knows it’ll choke him out. But he doesn't want to show Yukhei that. He wants to prove that he can be outgoing and social. He’s not quite sure why. So, just as easily as the discomfort rose to challenge him, Mark silenced it and opens his mouth once more.

Mark pouts. “ _I_ can’t meet Yangyang? And wait, what's that supposed to mean?”

Yukhei winks. “You act like a lost puppy when you're alone.”

Warmth creeps up Mark's neck at that. “What? No, I don't.” 

(He does. Once, the lot of them had gone to Coney Island on a Saturday afternoon; Mark had accidentally wandered off after an impromptu bathroom trip and spent thirty minutes asking around for his group of friends, dragging his feet and glowering all the while.)

“Just stay still, would you?” Yukhei instructs as he slowly backs away from Mark, hands held out like Mark is an untamed animal ready to spring at any moment. “I’ll be right back.”

Mark clenches his fists, nods aggressively, and watches as Yukhei gradually blends into the rest of the crowd behind him. 

He said he’d be back.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Yukhei still isn't back, and Mark _really_ has to pee. 

It’s starting to feel _way_ too much like Coney Island again, and Mark would rather never revisit that day. 

He sits there for a few moments longer, letting the bass rattle his bones and the soul they contain, bouncing his leg up and down nervously. Mark is, of course, not alone on the couch; it's meant to seat three- four if you're lucky- but he finds himself uncomfortably close to several others as they push past the capacity to seat six. He’s practically sitting on the arm at this point; his tailbone is irritatingly pressed into the structure of the couch underneath the leather, and one of his feet has to dig into the couch to even maintain his balance. 

Mark allows the irritation to tickle his brain for a few seconds longer before he straightens his back and starts to comb through the surrounding crowds for a familiar mop of black hair and a long torso and legs to accompany it.

_Come on, come on…_

For some reason, part of him doesn't want to admit it- the part of him that _insists_ that he’s brave and social on his own, independent of Yukhei- but that indignance is a slowly dying flame as his eyes don't meet Yukhei’s anywhere. Mark starts to wring his hands in frustration.

He stands up. 

Just that quickly, the girl who had been sitting next to him filled the spot he had just vacated, her eyes never leaving her friends’ as she discusses something fiercely.

“Okay, Mark,” He dumbly mutters to himself, still glancing around all the while. Still no sign of Yukhei. “Okay.” 

_Bathroom, then look for Yukhei_. 

With a determined nod, Mark sets off in the direction of the nearest hallway, tightening his fists by his sides as he shrinks off into their dark shadows. The groups of people dwindle until there are just lone kids lingering about, faces illuminated in the darkness by their phone screens or simply sitting where the wall meets the floor. _Okay-_

Mark doesn't know where the bathroom is. 

He’d just up and left the couch without even a _clue_ of where he would head afterward. He slows his pace for a moment and glances around once more. 

It’s just him. 

Mark had walked so far in this _maze_ of a house- he has Yukhei to thank for that one, truly- and it had landed him in a corridor so far away from the main event that the pounding of the bass feels like no more than the hum of a refrigerator. He twirls back around for a moment, his eyes searching the hall, but they find nothing except photographs and potted plants. 

At this point, he can't even blame Yukhei. 

There are three doors surrounding him: two on his left and one on his right. One of the two is thin and tall- most assuredly a closet or access point of some sort- so he brushes over it. However, the other two resemble each other far too much to even distinguish them from one another. 

_It's a fucking bathroom, Mark._

Right, he's looking for a bathroom. It's not that serious.

Mark reaches for the doorknob on the right.

When he swings open the door, the light from the hallway creeping into the dark room beyond it, Mark quickly notices two things: firstly, this is most certainly not a bathroom. He can make out the silhouette of a desk on the side farthest from him, illuminated by the glow from the streetlight outside the window it sits in front of, and a bookshelf to the desk’s immediate left. Just this fact alone should have drawn Mark into shrugging and closing the door behind him in his endless quest for a bathroom, but it _doesn't_. Because, secondly, on the right hand side of the desk, Mark spots a light. 

It's no desk light nor lamp; no, instead, it's in the shape of a box no larger than a small hamster cage. It gleams an eerie blue, as deep as the ocean, seemingly to no end. Mark furrows a curious eyebrow, perplexed; the longer he stares at the box, the more it seems to draw him in. 

_It's probably a fish tank, or something_ , his conscience helpfully supplies, but Mark almost can't hear it. He pushes the door further with a loud creak, but even that doesn't deter him as he creeps ever so slowly into the shadowy expanse. Mark knows that he probably shouldn't be here- the absence of other people could've told him that- but there's something inside of him that tells him that he _must_ continue. He has to investigate that blue light. 

The room must be somebody’s office. The bookshelves reach the ceilings, filled to the brim with thick books and other trinkets. Besides that, there's one singular lamp in the far corner- turned off- that casts an intimidating shadow in its wake. For an office, Mark notes, it's painfully devoid of any kind of work. There's no computer on the desk, either.

He puts one foot in front of the other deliberately, almost carefully, as if he's trying to not disturb the shadows that surround him. Mark’s eyes are wide as he finally approaches the source of the light- that enigmatic, controlling light- and his steps stop before he himself is even aware that he’s made them do so. 

It’s a fish tank. 

It’s empty, though; not a single piece of… _fish furniture_ or a single drop of water fills its confines. There’s nothing except for that blue light. 

It entrances him. He continues to stare, perplexed, at the emptiness before him, trying to search for something that just isn't there. His eyes comb through all of the corner, every inch. He finds nothing. 

Huh. 

Mark starts to turn around, hoping that he can slink back into the hallway without making it incredibly obvious that he’d been snooping through what is clearly somebody's office, his need for the bathroom long forgotten. Maybe the time he’d wasted in the bizarre room would have given Yukhei time to finally make his way back to the living room area. Maybe- 

_“Fuck!”_

Mark’s thoughts come to a screeching halt as an harsh pain on his left hand suddenly makes itself known, a sharp, intense feeling, much like that of stubbing his toe on that _obnoxious_ corner in his and Johnny’s kitchen. The agonizing pain lasts for but a moment, however, quickly ebbing into something quiet and calm. 

He lifts the incriminating hand up to investigate, raising it to eyeline level, and cringes at what he sees. 

There’s a spider on the back of his hand, no bigger than a quarter. It's an unsuspecting thing, something Mark feels like he’s smashed a billion times when he’s found them creeping about in his house, but this one surely differed from the others in that it fucking _bit_ him. For a moment, it's almost as if they make eye contact. Before, of course, Mark is slamming his right hand down on it angrily. 

That's that.

“Fuck,” He repeats, though this time a lot less pained. “Asshole. I didn't even _touch_ you, and you bit me. Couldn't have spent your Friday night doing something else?” 

Instead of asking himself why he's trying to reason with a spider- now no more than a crushed corpse- he brushes it from his hand, clenching it and unclenching it a couple of times just to make sure everything feels alright and finally exits the room, closing the door behind him silently. The bathroom is in the back of his mind as he starts to make his way back down the hallway in the direction he had originally come from. 

Everything seems fine for a moment, he thinks. It's perfectly fine. He finally spots another human being, reclining comfortably against the walls, followed closely by a pair of girls bickering about something on one of their phones. When he finally gets back into the living room, Mark swears to himself that he's gonna give Yukhei a piece of his mind. He'd _promised_ that he wouldn't ditch Mark like last time, and now Mark had wasted fifteen minutes wandering around in Yangyang's endless ginormous house and never ending hallways and-

And. 

The world seems to tilt onto its head. 

The hallway seems impossibly long, now, even though Mark can vaguely sense himself reaching the more populated areas of the house. The bass booms beneath his feet once more. Besides that, though, he doesn't hear or feel much else. 

_Yukhei_ , he thinks. Distantly, he feels himself pick up the pace.

Mark crashes into a soft body as he hurtles out of the hallway at max speed, the dizziness chasing after him as if he’s a piece of meat and it’s a starving mutt. He whispers a half-assed apology at the person he’d bumped into, attempting to keep moving towards god knows where, his mind chanting _Yukhei_ like a mantra, but a hand is wrapping around his elbow before he can go any further.

“Mark?”

Jaemin, his brain helpfully supplies among the cacophony in his skull. When did he get here? That means Jeno had arrived, too. They're always attached at the hip. He internally nods in thanks.

“Mark, hey. We’ve been looking all over for you. I swear, we leave you alone and it's Coney-”

“I don’t… I don’t feel so well,” Mark slurs, and suddenly, the world around him is spinning and blurring, the people in the room with him now nothing more than smears of color against an equally distorted background. Jaemin’s arms are holding him up in an instant.

“Woah,” Jaemin says, or at least that’s what Mark hears. When his voice reaches Mark’s ears, it sounds like he’s trying to listen to it under the water in a swimming pool. “What the hell did you take?”

“You…” His voice trails off as everything starts whirling faster. Mark grasps at Jaemin’s arms for leverage, feeling himself descend closer to the ground. His legs feel like jelly, lacking form and strength. Distantly, Mark feels them wobble beneath the weight of the rest of his body, struggling to hold it up. “...know I don’t… do that.”

Jaemin grumbles something lowly, and despite his best efforts, Mark can’t hear it. His eyes are slipping shut. 

“Mark!”

That’s Yukhei’s voice, now: way too loud, way too powerful. It rings in Mark’s ears the same way a bat would rattle a metal gate; vibrating. For a second, all he hears is white noise. Yukhei’s feet enter his line of vision. 

“Xuxi…” He slurs absentmindedly, too far gone to recognize the slip of the name that Yukhei rarely uses himself. The individual in question reaches for Mark’s shoulders so that he can right him, forcing him to stand up straight despite Mark’s body’s best efforts to resist him. Even looking past his heavy eyelids and blurred vision, Mark can see the worry etched between Yukhei’s eyebrows. The smile that is so characteristically pinned to Yukhei’s face is long gone, and all Mark can feel is his panic. He doesn’t like that, not one bit. Yukhei is so bright and energetic, bouncing off of walls and so lively that it’s damn near impossible to not want to do the same when with him; seeing him act the opposite is scaring _Mark_. He wants to see Yukhei’s eyes crinkle like they always do-

“Dammit,” Yukhei snaps, and his voice is shaking, full of terror. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Fuck.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Mark mumbles what he knows to be the truth, determined- in his one-track mind- to make Yukhei smile again. He doesn’t.

“Where the hell did you wander off to?” Yukhei seems to consider shaking Mark by his shoulders, just like he always does, but he must think better of it. Jaemin is atypically quiet. “Were you talking to Vernon?”

Mark doesn’t even bother to ask who Vernon is. All he knows is that he wandered into someone’s office by mistake while he was searching for a bathroom and got nibbled on by a common household spider. What he _thinks_ was a common household spider. He’s no spider expert. It- in the grand scheme of painful things, of course- didn't hurt _that_ much; it was more of the shock of pain than actual pain, so there’s no way it could have caused _this_. He’s almost certain that if a venomous arachnid had sunk its fangs into him, he would feel the poison coursing through his veins. Probably. Again, he’s not a spider expert.

“No,” Mark mutters, but his body feels a lot less heavy than it had moments ago. He can feel his hands again.

Yukhei doesn’t say anything in response to that, maintaining eye contact with Mark as if searching his pupils would give him all the answers he needs. Without taking his hands off of Mark’s shoulders, he turns his gaze to Jaemin. 

“Go get Jeno. We’re getting out of here.”

Jaemin chuckles, and this time, Mark can actually hear it. “Yes, sir.” He snarks as he slips off into the small crowds of people who appear none the wiser to Mark’s condition. 

Yukhei finally lets go of Mark’s shoulders to move to his side, slinging one of Mark’s skinny arms over his own shoulder to hold him up. Mark’s legs feel a lot more like they actually have bones in them, now, but Yukhei doesn’t seem to notice as Mark straightens ever so slightly. 

His head feels about a dozen times more clear than it had in the minutes past, finally letting a few coherent thoughts slip through. He can finally move a little bit more, too. Mark blinks.

Slowly, but steadily, Mark begins to regain feeling in all of his limbs, and after a few blinks, he can see clearly, too. The voices around him return to coherency; finally, he can understand what the loud girl next to them is shouting about. He can hear some voices down the hallway, the clacking of someone’s shoes on the hardwood, and a billion other things. For the most part, he feels normal again. 

(Above all else, though, Mark can hear Yukhei’s heavy breathing.)

Jaemin returns in a few seconds, Jeno in tow, looking disappointed that he has to leave. He’s still gripping a solo cup tightly in his hand. When he and Mark make eye contact, he furrows his brow.

“Why are we leaving? He looks fine.” 

Yukhei huffs. “Do you have eyes? He’s-”

Yukhei stops abruptly as he tilts his head down to look at Mark, who, at this point, has done a complete one-eighty. He’s standing with his own two legs, and the people around him are no longer blobs of color swimming through his vision. He gently removes his arm from around Yukhei’s shoulder, just as confused as his three friends probably are. He blinks again. Yukhei blinks back, and looks him up and down. Mark flushes red in response. 

“Uh.” Mark starts, uncertain of where to even begin. He doesn’t even feel sick anymore, and the spider is long forgotten. All he feels now is embarrassment, hot and harsh. Jaemin widens his eyes.

“What the fuck was all of that?” He asks, but he doesn’t sound angry. His voice sounds as baffled as he looks. 

“Uh.” He repeats, because there’s really nothing else for him to say. “It cleared up?”

“What did?” Yukhei barges back in, looking the most frustrated of them all. Mark can understand why. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

The others are all looking at him expectantly. Mark, in all honesty, has no excuses prepared as he usually would. No sarcastic remarks, no write-offs. He’s just as lost as them.

Mark shrugs. 

Jaemin laughs under his breath, and Jeno just continues to look on in confusion. 

The three of them stand there in a bewildered sort of silence, no words passing between them as they seem to be within their own world. The party still quite loudly continues, a Kendrick Lamar song now blasting from the speakers, and the partygoers seem to be enjoying it. Mark shuffles his feet. Everything happening around them is roaring, yet the stillness between just them makes everything seem uncomfortable and overwhelming.

“Erm.” He’s speaking. Why is he speaking? Who said that that would be a good idea? Shut up, Mark, shut up- “How was Yangyang?” 

Yukhei blinks back at him. Jeno still looks baffled.

“He’s… fine. He’s fine. I, um….” Mark, you fucking _dumbass,_ of course he doesn't care about Yangyang right now, think about what _you_ ’ve done- “I think it’d be for the best if the two of us went back,” Yukhei says, glancing at Jeno and Jaemin and then back Mark’s way. Mark shrinks back sheepishly, and Yukhei’s eyes soften; he’s not angry, and he wants Mark to know that, but Mark still feels searing humiliation creep up his neck nonetheless. 

(It's been Yukhei’s philosophy since they were preteens obsessed with playing Kingdom Hearts in Yukhei’s living room: _don’t waste your anger on things that can be best solved with a level head_. 

Though, in much less eloquent terms. They were twelve.)

“No, yeah, you're probably right,” Jeno says slowly, as if he’s still trying to absorb the situation. Jaemin by his side looks quite amused now, gaze flickering back and forth between Mark and Yukhei. He crosses his arms and tilts his body’s weight to rest on one of his legs. 

“Mm. Be safe,” Is all Jaemin says. Yukhei answers back with a simple “ _we will_ ,” but Mark narrows his eyes at Jaemin’s expression. When the latter finally makes eye contact, he responds to Mark’s inquisitive ogle with a wink. 

_What?_

Mark opens his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Yukhei is suddenly grasping for his elbow and pulling him through the living room crowd silently. His grip is firm, and for a second, Mark considers complaining about its tightness. But when he looks up, trying his hardest to keep himself upright and not stumble over his feet as he’s dragged through Yangyang’s ‘house,’ every word he could have possibly said freezes somewhere deep in his throat. 

Yukhei isn't looking at him, or even at the people they brush past as they finally make it out of the front door. He’s just staring ahead, his bright eyes atypically blank of all feeling as he guides the two of them towards familiarity. 

_He’s not mad,_ Mark thinks. _Right?_

* * *

“I’m not mad,” 

Yukhei breaks the silence between them, only speaking Mark’s fearful thoughts aloud. Mark thanks God quietly under his breath. “But what the hell was that?”

The two of them are once again on the subway, heading back towards Mark’s apartment barely a few hours after they'd left it. The train car is mostly empty, spare a few stragglers, strange for a Friday evening, but Mark won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Yukhei hasn't spoken a word since their parting with Jaemin and Jeno, and Mark finds himself flinching. All he’d been doing was staring so hard at the floor below them that he was sure a pit would open up eventually to swallow him whole. 

Mark thinks back on the past hour, to his lone ten minutes spent squished between a warm body and the couch arm and then to that _blue light_ as he’d searched desperately for a bathroom to use. Finally, he arrives back at the spider, that _tiny_ and unsuspecting spider that had nibbled on his hand for absolutely no reason except to ruin his evening. Even still, Mark doesn't think that the spider could have caused the subsequent events; there was no numbness in his hand, no swelling, no _bleeding_ : all things that one would expect in the wake of a life-threatening bug bite. He’d stood up from his minutes of disorientation with as much ease as he’d slipped into them. 

Pensively, Mark spares a peek at his left hand once more. There’s nothing there except for a scar over the base of his index finger from that one time he and Donghyuck had tried to open up a _very_ persistent kid’s money bank with a paring knife, and an inch or so away from that, a small red dot. It looks like he’d _poked_ himself. 

Mark jumps as he realizes he’s waited too long to respond, and Yukhei is probably still waiting for an answer. The boy in question is still staring aimlessly ahead of them. 

“I…” Mark starts. “...I don’t know. Maybe I’m sick.” He’s speaking what he _knows_ to be the truth. But, as he thinks more about it, Mark really doesn't _know_ what happened. 

Yukhei huffs like he doesn’t believe him, and Mark can’t even blame him. He doesn't sound half convincing. “Shouldn’t you tell Johnny, then?”

Mark laughs, probably a little too loudly. “You’re jumping the gun a bit. I’m fine. Really.” He adds when Yukhei gives him an unconvinced look. “Besides, Johnny doesn’t have the time to worry about this shit right now. I’m eighteen. It’s… hormones, or something.” 

“Hormones?” Yukhei asks in that booming voice of his, and the lady on the other side of the train car gives them an odd stare. The older smiles apologetically, and continues in a quieter voice. “I don’t think hormones do _that_ , man.”

“They’re pretty surprising-”

“You had me worried out of my mind, though.” Yukhei murmurs, leaning back against his seat. He glances away from Mark, then, and his eyes obtain a distant look, closed off, as he gazes through the windows at the emptiness beyond them. “I was like, god, I brought him to this party, and now we’re going to have to go to the hospital because of me. And then I thought about how I would have to tell _Johnny_ -”

“It’d be payback for last time,” Mark says snidely, and that faraway look in Yukhei’s eyes vanishes in an instant as he giggles at Mark’s words. Mark doesn’t forget about its presence as quickly, and makes a note in the back of his head to try and bring it up later. Yukhei is never one to talk about his feelings without proper inquiry- a lesson Mark has learned quite well.

Yukhei is always like this, so caring and affectionate with everybody around him regardless of his _own_ state. Mark had asked him about it once, when they were younger and barely understood the world around them to begin with, how he could possibly expend that much energy. Yukhei had just smiled the way he always does, wide and colorful, and replied that making people smile is what gives him the energy, to begin with.

Sometimes, though, Mark fears that Yukhei is bearing the world’s pain in his own shoulders, and that he believes that admitting to his most unwelcome burden would somehow make it all the heavier. Yukhei would sooner fail all of his classes than he would let someone peek through his carefully crafted façade. However, years of standing by his side have allowed Mark to see those tiny things that would perhaps slip past the gaze of the most observant, things that even Yukhei himself doesn't realize slips through the smallest cracks.

“Speaking of payback. I can’t believe you ditched me _again_.”

Yukhei dramatically clasps his hand over his chest. “I left for ten minutes!” 

Mark flicks Yukhei’s shoulder, smirking a bit at the boy’s _ow_ when the hit lands. “I only went to that party for _you_ , dumbass. What's the point of me being there if you're not there with me?”

Yukhei pouts at Mark, and there go the puppy eyes. Mark tries his hardest not to flick Yukhei on the forehead this time. “Okay, okay, it was my bad. I take full responsibility.” He then proceeds to sigh quietly. “We probably shouldn't have gone at all.”

“Hey,” Mark says, in spite of himself. Part of him wishes that Yukhei could have realized that this morning, but another part of him says that he would do anything for his friend. “You wanted to go, so we went. It's that simple, Xuxi.”

Yukhei’s gaze trails down to the floor below them. Mark taps Yukhei’s foot with his shoe in an attempt to get him to look back up. When he finally does, Mark beams at him.

Yukhei smiles back at Mark, and the spider is long forgotten.

* * *

Yukhei comes up to Mark’s apartment once they reach it. 

The two of them open the front door quietly and creep in like mice when they realize that the apartment is already swallowed in shadows. There's only one light on in the entire apartment: the one over the stove, casting a weak yellow light over the rest of the kitchen. Johnny _always_ forgets to turn it off. Mark’s not even sure if he knows he can. 

The two of them plop down onto Mark’s bed, sighs escaping the both of them, and Yukhei laying back so far that he almost hits his head on the wall.

“Alright,” Yukhei says once they've sat there for a few minutes. They haven't spoken at all since entering the apartment, instead opting to bask in companionable silence in the dark of Mark’s room. Like this, Mark finds himself inches away from slipping off into a deep sleep.

“Hm?” Yukhei’s voice rouses him as the taller boy sits up. 

“I gotta go, Mark.”

Mark jumps at that. Mark can see how exhausted Yukhei looks from a mile away, even though Yukhei hasn't said anything to implicate himself. In just a few minutes, their entire night had become nothing but _fatigue-inducing_. Mark still doesn't know what happened to him, not even one bit. He wants Yukhei to stay with him.

Now or never.

“Can you… can you stay? Tonight?” Mark asks quietly, just as Yukhei moves to stand up from the bed. Yukhei turns those big eyes back to Mark’s, and Mark finds himself hoping, for once, that he can see the fear in them. He would never let himself be this vulnerable around anybody else, even Donghyuck. Especially Donghyuck.

Yukhei sighs. “My mom said that I absolutely have to come home tonight. No exceptions.”

“Not even for me?” Between all the times that Mark has met Yukhei’s mother, you'd think that she would trust him a _little_. Yukhei’s sheepish grin is enough of an answer.

“She's dragging me off tomorrow morning to see my aunt in Newark, remember?” No, Mark had forgotten about that completely. He slaps a hand over his face.

“Shit. I’m sorry, man. Gave you all that stress before you go deal with _that_.”

“It's not your fault.” Yukhei’s voice is gentle and forgiving, but Mark still feels ever so guilty. 

It's times like this that Mark feels the most comfortable; of course, being around Yukhei when he’s loud and booming will never be anything short of a joy, but when it's quiet like this- so quiet that it feels as though a sheet of ice has been placed around them, thin and breakable- he feels closer to Yukhei than ever. It's times like this that they can be away from everyone else, the world, and be the people that only the two of them know.

“Tell your brother I said hi,” Yukhei grins widely as he moves towards Mark’s bedroom door once more, stepping backwards so that he can maintain his eye contact with Mark, just as he always does, and Mark can feel the sunshine reach his heart, the rays warming the nervousness he feels there, even if just for a moment. “Don't wanna wake him up.” 

(It's not even ten, but Mark knows his brother is in a deep sleep in his own bedroom. Mark isn't joking when he calls Johnny an _old man_.)

“I will,” Mark promises. Johnny is always delighted to hear about Mark’s friends, and sometimes Mark’s convinced that his brother might like his companions more than him. 

Yukhei winks at Mark as he slips through the crack in the door that he opens up, and then he's gone, leaving Mark with nobody but himself and his thoughts. 

Mark absentmindedly reminds himself to take a shower, but he feels as if there's no more energy in his body to get up from where he’s comfortably reclining on the bed. Not quite like the episode that had tossed their night onto its head- no, it's much more like the exhaustion that follows a long day of carrying heavy weights.

In a way, he supposes, he does carry weight.

He’d started the morning off with failing his chemistry test, Donghyuck nobly at his side, and he’d ended it with scaring the shit out of Yukhei. Couldn't get much worse than that, really. 

Mark eyes a pair of sweatpants hung on the back of his desk chair. _You really need to clean your room_ , he chides himself, standing on tired and wobbly legs to acquire the piece of clothing, discarding his jeans on the way. As he pulls the sweatpants on, he cringes at the state of the bedroom. There’s schoolwork spread over the desk like butter on toast, books piled precariously on top of one another. His laptop sits in the middle of it all, still opened from when he and Donghyuck had been playing late into the night, and in its black screen, Mark can see his own exhausted face. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he slinks his way back under the covers, letting all of the day's worries seep out of him as his body meets the cozy fabrics. 

As he stares up at the ceiling- the empty, white ceiling- his mind drifts not to the night's events, but to the one who had just taken his leave. 

To Mark, Yukhei is the sun, with its bright glow and warm rays, its strength and its persistence, its never-ending presence. Even in the night, it illuminates the moon. There’s nothing that describes Yukhei better. 

That makes Mark the sunflower.

Sunflowers always, without fail, turn to face the sun so that they can grow stronger and taller. In the absence of sunlight, unfortunately, the sunflower can no longer stand.

Yukhei is the sun. Mark is the sunflower. Somehow, that manages to calm his churning stomach. 

He rolls over, closes his eyes, and tries his absolute hardest to ignore the tears burning threateningly behind their lids. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yayyyy u made it through!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it even though its practically just a preview to like. the actual story... i put a lot of work into it though and I appreciate every comment I receive it warms my heart truly
> 
> i tried a different approach with this fic than mmcmb because multichaptered fics are not my specialty. as you can see. so i practically finished the entire story before uploading this prologue. 
> 
> everyone stay safe and healthy!!
> 
> twt @jyangender 
> 
> [wip story playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zi9CeuTa5UBwUSfhoMI3n?si=wBgOT_nMSoO0J9IiT4oz9g)


	2. the beginning of the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mark becomes somebody new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hii so guess who lied thru his teeth!
> 
> back two and a half months later with part two out of three when i said this would have two parts. I'm sorry haha its been a weird time for the past two months yet every day I've been writing this, little by little..
> 
> enjoy this I'm glad i finally get to share it with you!

When Mark rouses, the morning is cold, seeping through his skin and resting on his aching bones, sending him into a powerful shiver. As he awakens, everything is fuzzy- as it always is, waiting for his mind and body to adjust to the bright light streaming in through the window, for his head to feel like it belongs on his shoulders after a night of heavy sleep- and his thoughts are as scrambled as ever. For a moment, his brain feels like soup, like nothing is comprehensible nor sensible; but that moment quickly passes, and suddenly, Mark feels like everything at once.

Mark sits up, faster than advisable, but he isn't as disoriented as he should be. The blood rushing to the other parts of his body sounds _loud_ . It has sound. He can feel and hear it pouring through his veins like rivers, pulsing. He can _feel_ his blood. The fog in his skull has long since faded, leaving behind a dozen things that Mark knows weren’t there before it had occupied him. 

Now, Mark supposes, his head isn't fuzzy; instead, it feels as if someone had rubbed him full of static electricity, rubbed until his skin was sore and red in its wake. He’s positively buzzing, almost shaking, and he can't stop himself.

He can hear the cars rushing down the street outside of his apartment building, though he had learned to drown them out years ago after ages of being kept up at night, and beside the sounds of cars are the sounds of _birds,_ squawking over something that Mark himself cannot know of. He can hear the wind against his windowpane, and the strange whistling noise it makes in response. But, above all else, Mark can hear the sound of his own heart, running miles a minute. _Badum. Badum. Badum_. 

Mark raises a hand in front of his face as though it would give him some answers. He turns it over, eyes combing across the skin, before flipping once again, repeating the process over and over until his eyes grow tired of it. Confused, he places his hands down on his mattress, and swings his legs over the side of the bed, hoping that sitting up straight and observing the rest of the room would reveal _something_.

The room is alight with the very same energy thrumming through him, through the rest of the world. His room feels the same as the cars and the wind and the birds. Everything feels electrifying, like someone had taken a round balloon and rubbed him full of static, prepared to poke somebody else in the room to deliver a surprise shock. 

So he stands up, and the world seems to push back at him in response, as if it were saying _I’m here, I’m here, look at me_.

Mark does the first judicious thing that one does in the event that the world begins to _speak_ to them: he gathers his bearings to the best of his ability and stumbles through his bedroom door- loudly, at that- and makes a mad dash towards the bathroom, ignoring his now very confused brother who reclines on the living room couch, flipping through a book of some sort as the television murmurs quietly in front of him. 

“Mark?” Johnny calls, but the aforementioned isn't listening to him. He’s listening to everything else, and he slams the bathroom door closed behind him. He doesn't hear Johnny’s mumbled _hangover_ in his rush.

Slamming his hands down on the counter, Mark lifts his gaze to meet his very own eyes in the mirror. There's nothing different there; the same deep brown stares back at him, just as it always has. His face is covered in lines from heavy sleep- nothing out of the ordinary there- and his hair is mussed from the tossing and turning he had surely done in his slumber. Mark’s eyes rake his face, looking for answers, looking for _something_.

Just beneath the surface of his skin, Mark feels his body itching with unknown passion, but not anything he can scratch. His blood roars in response.

He shakes his head briskly. He's _definitely_ sick, and it's probably nothing a little Advil can't fix. Mark reaches for the faucet to turn on the water- maybe a small splash of the cold liquid will calm him down before he goes searching for the medication, even if just a little bit.

Mark blinks, and the water is exploding from the sink, and the lever is grasped delicately in his right hand. 

His eyes widen, because what else can they do? For a moment, it's just him, staring at the metal lever in his palm, unblinkingly. He’s just ripped off the sink’s handle. The water is rushing out too fast, and now he can't turn it off. The sink is flooding. 

Mark opens his hand to drop the lever back into the sink casually. It must've been loose, right? Whatever holds the sink together. With a shrug and a commitment to go tell his brother about the issue, Mark opens his hand.

Again.

One of his eyebrows slowly creeps up. He could've sworn he’d already _dropped_ it. It should be dropping. His hand is open and his palm is facing downwards. That lever should be underwater. 

He shakes his hand. 

The lever is… stuck.

With a slow blink, Mark reaches his other hand to his palm. No biggie. The lever is just…

He tugs. The lever doesn't give one bit. It’s like it's _glued_ to his hand.

Huh.

Though perhaps irrational, Mark screams and jumps back from the sink, his back slamming into the wall behind him. When he spins around, lever still clutched in his hand, there's a sizable dent there in the shape of his shoulder. 

_What the fuck. What the fuck._

He screams again, and hears footsteps come bounding close to the door before it swings open- squeakily and loudly, his ears remind him as they ring. They’ve _got_ to replace that hinge- threatening to knock it off of the wall. Johnny is looming in the doorway, his hand still grasping the knob, and despite the short distance from the couch to the bathroom, the way his eyebrows are furrowed make him look as if he's run a mile, his fear for his brother exhausting him that quickly.

“Mark?” Johnny- panicked at his brother’s exclamation- shouts over the sound of the water, pushing his way into the already too-small bathroom to stand next to his Mark, still holding the handle. Johnny’s eyes go back and forth between the sink and the lever in Mark’s hand at least three times before they meet Mark’s surely terrified ones. “What the hell happened?”

“The…” Mark starts, and suddenly the immense strength he had been feeling for the last few minutes ebbs away into something between confusion and fear. The roaring storm now is reminiscent of a quiet pond. “I pulled the lever and it broke, and then I got scared and…” He trails off, unable to say anything else. He leaves out the part about the lever sticking to his hand.

Johnny reaches a hand down to grab the object from Mark’s hand. He tugs his arm back for a second, fearful of what would happen if _Johnny_ tried to tug it from his palm, but Johnny pays him no mind and takes the lever from his hand.

It goes easily into Johnny’s hand, and Mark huffs a sigh of relief. _Thank God_. He doesn't know what he would've said to explain… it.

Mark’s eyes now flicker to where the water is now overflowing from the basin. 

“I just replaced these last month,” Johnny drawls, flipping the object over and over in his hand with a frustrated scowl, clearly blaming the faulty equipment and not his brother. Mark gulps, guilted, even though he knows Johnny won't be mad about it- he never is. Mark could count the amount of times Johnny has gotten mad at him in the last four years on one hand. He knows how tight money has been, and he’s just placed another burden on his brother’s already heaping plate. 

Johnny bends down and opens the cabinet under the sink, shoving his way through the small space there to observe the sink’s parts. The water dribbles down his back and stains his shirt, but Johnny doesn't seem to care much about it as Mark hears him tinker with something down there for a few seconds before the flow stops all together. 

Johnny claps his hands together as he stands back up. “There we go.”

Mark huffs a sigh of relief. Nervousness still worries at the back of his brain, but the momentary calm that comes from the water being turned off quiets it for a moment. “You're a lifesaver.”

“It's a sink,” Johnny says, wiping his hands off with a paper towel. Mark nudges him with his foot.

“Okay, smartass.” 

“Hey,” Johnny pushes Mark with a shoulder as he makes his way out of the bathroom, the tight confines of the room clearly getting to him. Their bathroom is no better than a shoe closet, and Johnny’s taller than _Yukhei_. He looms over all of Mark’s friends and his friends just the same, like a dark shadow. Sometimes, Mark feels cramped taking a shower in there, and cringes when he thinks of what Johnny has to go through every day. “I’m not the one who broke it.” 

Mark pokes his tongue out as he follows his brother out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him. The world feels a lot more quiet now, more _normal_ , as he speaks to Johnny. As his eyes follow his brother’s path back into the living room- where, he now notes, Johnny's laptop is open on one of the couch cushions- one thought pops to the forefront of his mind.

_There’s only one person who can help. I’ve got to get out of here._

_It’s the last Saturday of the month, though_ , Mark’s conscience helpfully supplies. It sounds so much more loud than usual. He wishes that there was a knob or something he could twist to turn down the volume just a little bit. _You’re supposed to go out with Johnny_.

Fuck, that’s right. On the last Saturday of every month, he and Johnny go out for dinner, just the two of them, to celebrate another month well lived. Their mother had started the tradition years before Mark was born, before she even married their father; as far as Mark knows, it goes all the way back to his great-grandparents back in Korea. He and Johnny have only managed to miss the monthly meal once, four months ago, when Johnny was so sick he couldn’t even get out of his bed. 

(Jaehyun had mysteriously shown up on their doorstep at eight that night with arms full of Chinese takeout, and a sick Johnny still forced himself to scarf down all the food in spite of his roiling stomach. Somehow, the essence of the day was still captured.)

Things like that are important to Johnny. One second, your life is perfect; not a single thing out of place, everything right where it's supposed to be, and the next, everything could be uprooted. 

Mark shakes his head to clear his thoughts. There’s no point in worrying about it if he can make it back to the apartment before dinnertime. When he lifts his gaze back up to where Johnny has returned to the couch, he sees his brother looking at him expectantly.

Mark blinks. “Yes?”

Johnny raises an eyebrow as he lifts his laptop on top of his thighs, typing in the password without a single glance at the screen. “I’m not the one standing in the middle of the hall like a sim.” 

He tries his hardest not to suck his teeth, but he does anyway. “Come on, man.”

With a smirk, Johnny turns to his computer. “You look like you have a question to ask.”

This time, Mark doesn’t even try to resist. He sucks his teeth. “...Yeah.”

“And it is…”

There’s only one person Mark can trust with this confidential information right now, and it’s not Yukhei, not after what happened last night. He can’t even imagine worrying him with something like _this_ , especially after the near heart attack he’d given his friend. However, there’s a particular individual that will know what to do, who always knows what to do. Mark doesn’t even know what the problem really is, or what to call it, but somehow, he knows this person will figure it out with him.

He huffs. _Out in one breath._ “Can I go to Hyuck’s?”

_Just be back before dinner, back before dinner…_

Johnny hums contemplatively, and Mark bites his lip. It’s not like Johnny ever disallows his little brother from going anywhere, but Mark feels so nervous about everything right now - so much energy thrumming beneath his skin- that his mind tells him that Johnny might just deny him. His brother does none of the sort, however; his eyes just soften a little bit. Mark sighs in relief. That’s _one_ success for today.

“Alright,” Johnny says. His voice is quieter now, lacking something, like he’s immersed in whatever work he’d opened up on with his laptop. Mark frowns a little bit at that. “Just be back by six, okay? You know what day it is.” 

Mark pumps a fist and skitters back into his bedroom, quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants that had been thrown to his floor at some point in the past week and pulling a hoodie over his head just before scrambling for where his phone is tangled up in the bedsheets. When he finally manages to grab it, he shoves it in his pocket and dashes out of his room without another word. 

His eyes shoot towards the digital clock that they keep in the living room. _10:26._ Mark has eight hours to figure out what the hell happened to him last night, and he’ll have Donghyuck’s help.

“Alright, six.” 

Just as Mark reaches the entrance where all of their shoes are piled up- spotting his sneakers thrown haphazardly to the side of the hall- Johnny’s voice calls back out to him. 

“Hey, don't worry too much about the sink knob. No big deal, wasn't your fault,” Mark hears Johnny trail off absentmindedly and a few clicks of a keyboard. “I’ll get a new one this week.”

Mark swallows down his guilt. It was most certainly his fault, but how does he explain to his brother that the knob wasn't faulty and instead it was his little brother's sudden superhuman strength that broke it and put a hole in the wall behind him? Shit, Johnny probably didn’t even notice the hole. Mark decides it’d be smart to just not mention it for now. 

“Okay,” Mark opts for, ducking down to pick up his pair of shoes, pulling apart the laces.

“But when you come back, we gotta talk about some things,” Johnny speaks, and Mark freezes with both shoes in his hand, because that's Johnny’s Parent Voice. The voice they _both_ hate. 

“Um.” Mark starts, turning around to meet his brother’s eyes. They're as unreadable as ever. “What about?” 

“Chemistry,” 

Everything pounding in Mark’s head comes to a screeching halt. How could he have forgotten that- as his legal guardian- Johnny has access to his grades, and sees everything that Mark sees? That, even though he doesn't ever push Mark past his limit, he still checks his grades on the last Friday of every month just to make sure nothing is wrong?

“Erm. Okay.”

Johnny stares at him quietly for a few more seconds before that strange look is gone from his face altogether. “Alright. Be safe, okay? Love you.”

Mark breathes a sigh of relief. “Love you too.”

* * *

Being outside is, naturally, much worse than hiding in the comfort of his bedroom.

Mark feels like a magnet; every last one of his senses is on high alert, honed in on every sound and every smell and every flash of color as a car rolls past, sunlight reflecting off of its metal. Mark hears the loud man that sits in front of the bodega every morning, shouting some nonsense that Mark has never been able to make sense of in his entire life- Mr. Thomas, he told Mark to call him once. It rings in his ears, like he’s just been smacked upside the head, for every second he stands out there. He picks up his pace. 

Mark arrives on Donghyuck’s doorstep and nearly falls into the wood of the door as he raises a fist to bang on it. One of Donghyuck’s neighbors shouts something down the street, and Mark cringes.

_Please open the door._

His wish quickly comes true. He hears the sound of the lock being turned from the inside, followed with a _whoosh_ as the door swings open. 

Taeyong is the one who stands in the doorway, not Donghyuck; his dyed-silver hair falls over his forehead like a waterfall, and he blinks his large doe eyes at Mark. He’s clutching a cup of something in the hand that doesn’t hold the door open, taking a sip from it as he turns back around into the house.

“Hey, Donghyuck!” He calls out. “Mark is here, come downstairs!” 

Mark raises a hand to his ear and sends out a little prayer for his ruptured eardrum. Even with his basic understanding of Korean, he knows what Taeyong shouts to his brother.

“What? He didn’t tell me he was coming,” Donghyuck responds in kind, and no, Mark didn’t. He’d opted for the element of surprise. 

“Well, he’s here!” Taeyong yells again, this time in English, followed closely by the sound of Donghyuck stumbling down their wooden stairs. Taeyong steps to the side- an invitation for Mark to enter the house, and when he does, he’s met with Donghyuck’s bright eyes as he shucks off his shoes to the side. Taeyong slinks away somewhere into the shadows. 

Donghyuck looks as if he’s just woken up. Knowing him, he just did. A haphazard glance at his phone tells Mark that it’s just past eleven in the morning, and Donghyuck rarely ever rouses before the sun reaches its peak at noon. His dyed-brown locks are ruffled like a newly hatched bird’s downy feathers, and his pajamas- covered in tiny bears, Mark notes- are askew as well. 

“Hey,” Donghyuck breathes, out of breath from his journey out of his bedroom and down the stairs. Mark wants to frown a little bit. He didn’t want to disturb Donghyuck or anybody for that matter, and that’d been the whole reason he’d opted not to tell Yukhei. God, what is he doing? Maybe he’d be better off keeping this to himself, not worrying anybody else- “Mark, dude, what’s up?”

Mark snaps out of it.

“Um.” Mark wheezes. Donghyuck quirks an interested eyebrow at the sound. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

* * *

Donghyuck’s room is a reflection of both his life and his personality: various posters are hung on his walls, from an Overwatch poster with all of the characters on it to a Star Wars one just the same. There's a mirror on the longest wall, the one which contains the door; on its edges, there are dozens of polaroids and other printed photos that their friend group has taken over the years. There's one that always catches Mark's eye on the top left- Halloween, two years ago, where Mark had dressed up as Iron Man, beard and all, and Chenle had opted to go as a neon-colored mummy. In the photo, they're closer to the camera than necessary, both smiling widely, hands held up in twin peace signs. 

Fairy lights are strung up on the walls as far up as they can go, stretching from either side, always shimmering, no matter the time of day. Donghyuck’s room isn't one to get a lot of sunlight, even on summer days free of clouds, so he tries his best to illuminate the space.

Every time Mark steps into Donghyuck's room, he feels like he’s stepping into Donghyuck himself.

Many things have passed between the two of them here, gossip and failed study sessions and hours of Overwatch alike. At some point, Donghyuck's room started to feel like Mark’s own. 

_(“Say, why is Johnny's last name different from yours?” Donghyuck had asked once while they were in middle school. The pictures were lesser, the fairy lights absent, and they themselves were several inches shorter._

_“He came before the wedding, I came after.” Mark responded, and Donghyuck had answered with a quiet “oh.”)_

Mark casts his phone carelessly to Donghyuck's bed, crumpling into a pitiful pile on the floor once he hears the thump of it against the sheets. Donghyuck follows him closely, shutting the door quietly behind him as he paces into his room. Taeyong _hates_ slammed doors. Mark had learned his lesson years ago. 

“Okay, are you gonna tell me what's up now?” Donghyuck's voice comes out sounding exasperated, and as he rubs a tired hand over his face- still streaked with lines from his sleep- Mark once again curses his timing. 

Mark huffs. Might as well just tell the truth, especially since he's never texted Donghyuck after the party. “Last night was… weird.”

At the mention of the night prior, Donghyuck visibly perks up. Mark almost shrinks back at the bright light that glints in his pupils.

“Did Yukhei stay over?”

Everything swirling through Mark’s head comes to a screeching halt. Yukhei isn't exactly at the _back_ of his mind, but that’s not what he’s worried about; he’s _worried_ about having _worried_ Yukhei with the shit that had ruined his night and morning, not… that. 

“No,” Mark says with a sense of finality. Donghyuck tilts his head at the tone, hopefully catching onto the undertones in Mark’s voice.

“Okay…” Donghyuck trails off. He plops down onto the soft cushion of his bed, bouncing up once or twice before his body settles. His gaze doesn't once leave Mark’s. “You're kinda freaking me out, man. What's wrong?”

Mark opens his mouth, ready to respond, ready to spill the contents from the morning and the night that came before, but then he hears his phone ding from where it rests on Donghyuck’s bed. He thinks it could be Johnny, asking whether or not he arrived to Donghyuck’s safely, or Yukhei, perhaps checking on him again after last night. Not too keen to ignore any of the possibilities, Mark sits up slowly to let his blood rush back into its proper home. In doing so, he shuts his eyes, rolling his shoulders all the while. Donghyuck’s floor isn't exactly comfortable, and in the short amount of time he’s laid there, his bones already ache.

“Hyuck, can you pass me-”

Mark's eyes shoot open when he hears Donghyuck squeak. 

Mark had lazily tossed out his hand when he’d posed his question, nonchalant and almost limp. It was… a normal arm movement. Boneless, really. Of course, his morning just couldn't get any worse. 

(Murphy’s Law, in simple terms, states that 'anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.’ His physics teacher had said that at some point last year. No, Mark absolutely cannot recall why or how that related to the physics lesson, nor is he particularly excited to have to remember physics at all.)

Behind where Donghyuck stands directly in front of his bed, stuck to the dark blue space-print curtains Donghyuck has drawn over his windows, is a strange white substance, viscous in nature; for the brief moment Mark allows himself to stare at it, the sunlight streaming through the blinds catches onto the strange translucent fluid. It’s not just a spatter, however; the mystery substance trails downward like a string, almost like a cord of melted cheese.

Mark blinks and follows the line the fluid leaves, down, down, down, and balks at what he sees at the base.

There's a… string in his wrist. The fluid is coming out of _him_. 

“Mark,” Donghyuck gasps, his voice shaky. “What the _hell_ is that?” 

Mark opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to find any words whatsoever to accommodate the storm of thoughts whirling in his head. Why is there a string in his wrist? Why is there a _hole_ in his wrist? Say, why doesn't it hurt at all? It actually tickles a little bit. 

He does the first superfluous thing, of course. The first thought that rises to the forefront of the incomprehensible rest of them. Mark yanks his arm back.

Donghyuck’s curtain rod comes flying from the wall, clattering to the hardwood floor below them in a matter of seconds. The sunlight makes its way through the window quite strongly now that it has no fabric blocking its path. 

“Uh,” Mark and Donghyuck both stare at the metal rod on the ground before them wordlessly. The… _string_ is still attached to the curtain. Distantly, Mark can hear Taeyong from somewhere else in the house telling them to keep it down. The roaring in his head quiets that pretty quickly, though. 

“Is this…” Donghyuck pauses to swallow. “...what you had to tell me about?”

Mark still doesn't look up from it. “Um. No? No. This is new. Definitely new.”

Donghyuck nods slowly, eyes still wide. “Okay. Alright. What is… _this,_ exactly?” 

Mark trails his eyes up to Donghyuck and then right back down to the bar. “No clue.” Cautiously, he flexes his fingers in a similar manner to what he had done when he’d thrown his hand outward. They both flinch as the string detaches itself from his wrist in an almost jumping motion, spiraling to the ground like freshly sprayed silly string.

“Okay,” Donghyuck says simply. “Okay. Please explain everything.”

* * *

Mark does.

While he's speaking, winding through a story about a tiny house spider and nearly passing out and then the _sink_ and the sounds, he realizes that he doesn't know what to even call this issue. He doesn't even know what's going _on_. Donghyuck is nodding all the while, trying to follow, but Mark can tell that he’s just as lost as Mark is. 

When Mark finishes, the two of them sit in silence for a moment as his words marinate in the air, dancing around in the space between them. Donghyuck is the first to speak. 

Donghyuck leans forward slowly, quietly, as if he's going to whisper something to Mark. There’s really no point, since they're alone in his room anyway, but Mark finds himself leaning forward closer to Donghyuck anyway.

“If… if you've been bitten by a spider and are now taking on the attributes of a spider, does that mean you’ll grow a bunch of eyes?” Donghyuck’s eyes are wild with childlike fascination.

Mark smacks his shoulder. 

“Ouch,” Donghyuck grumbles, rubbing around his shoulder. “Okay, maybe that wasn't appropriate. I'm sorry, spider-boy-”

Mark smacks him again, looking at his counterpart seriously. He’s just spilled his heart out to Donghyuck and only Donghyuck, and he jokes. Nevermind. Mark should've expected this.

“Ouch! Fuck, stop doing that! You said you put a hole in your wall, _please_ don't put a hole in my arm-” 

“I _will,_ if you don't get serious-”

“Please, spider- _ouch_!” This time, Mark tugs on Donghyuck's hair. “What’s wrong with you?”

Mark pouts at his friend, and Donghyuck sighs, moving to rest his palms on his knees as he sits back onto his bed. Mark slumps further into the mattress. With a quick glance at Mark beside him, Donghyuck too plops down onto the mattress so that they lay parallel to each other. For a moment, the two of them just stare at the ceiling above them, at the peeling white paint there, in complete silence. Mark’s thoughts buzz contemplatively within the confines of his skull. 

Donghyuck speaks up again. “We can't tell the others.” He whispers, his eyes not leaving the ceiling. 

“Nope.” Mark agrees, clutching his fists in determination. Yukhei and Jaemin seeing him in that state had been bad enough, and catching the outright fear in their pupils was enough to tack itself onto his heart for decades. The way Yukhei’s voice shook, the way his hands grabbed at Mark’s shoulders, the-

“Not even Yukhei.” Donghyuck murmurs with an air of finality, voicing Mark’s thoughts aloud. Even though Mark’s gaze remains fixed on the chipping paint, he can feel Donghyuck’s stare boring into his cheek. 

See, a precedent has to be set because Mark is notorious for spilling his guts to Yukhei. There’s just something about him, something about his aura of warmth and kindness, that makes him an easy receptacle for convoluted feelings. That coupled with them, you know, being best friends of over a decade. Before Donghyuck and Renjun and all the others. Before. 

Keeping something from Yukhei tugs a bit at his heartstrings, because he’s never done it. That is, of course, excluding the enormous elephant that occupies a good fourth of his brain. He knows it’ll be hard- impossible, even- but Mark can't worry him again. 

“I won't.” Mark insists with an exhale. Donghyuck’s eyes finally leave his face, and it's like he can physically _feel_ it. “I can’t.”

“Good.” Donghyuck suddenly sits up with a quickness, first lifting his legs into the air and then slamming his feet onto the hardwood below to give himself a sense of momentum as he hikes himself from the mattress. 

“Well. My best friend has become Spider Captain America.”

“You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself. I don't even know the full capabilities of…” Mark peers down at his hands. They're still as small and fragile as they've always been, clean and well-moisturized, nails neatly cut. “This.”

“That, my friend,” Donghyuck raises his right hand and starts to wiggle the fingers there, smirking mischievously. His thoughts seem a lot more organized, now, his emotions settled. “Is what I’m here to figure out.”

* * *

“Where are we headed?”

Donghyuck is walking ahead of Mark, moving so quickly that one would think he’s being chased by dogs. He, in fact, almost bumps into several people that they pass; Mark nods quiet apologies in their directions as Donghyuck bulldozes on. 

“Just trust me!” Donghyuck shouts back, his voice carrying over the meters between them. A lady that Donghyuck strides past flinches at his loud voice. “You can always trust me!”

Mark frowns. “We both know that isn't true.” Last time Mark had trusted Donghyuck, he’d ended up with a twisted ankle and a distraught brother.

(They’d jumped off a ledge. In retrospect, maybe it was Mark’s fault for following behind in the first place.)

Without turning around, Donghyuck shrugs. He’s probably recalling the same incident. “Worth a shot.”

They’ve been walking for a while now, and Mark still has absolutely no clue what their destination might be. There’s not many places that you just _know_ to go to after your best friend has just told you he’s developing… _abilities_ . Mark is still hesitant to call them anything but that. They're still new to him- barely a few hours old- so new that he doesn't know what else to refer to them as. Superpowers? They don't feel _super,_ or like _powers_. He doesn't feel like Captain America. They’re just strange, like an invasion in his body. Something thrums beneath his fingertips. 

Mark’s so lost in his head that he doesn't notice that Donghyuck has stopped right in front of him, but his body does. As his eyes trace the concrete below them, his steps come to a screeching halt, feet firmly planted on the ground before Mark’s mind can even catch up. He raises his head, slowly. 

Donghyuck is staring at him with a raised eyebrow. When Mark meets his eyes, searching for the normal mischief dancing in those irises, he only sees eyes clouded over in deep thought.

“You stopped before you saw me.” Donghyuck says with a head tilt. 

Mark blinks back at him. “I think that was just instinct.” 

“Yeah, but whose? Yours, or…” Donghyuck trails off. It seems he’s even less sure of what to call Mark’s newfound abilities than Mark himself is. Reasonable, considering that Mark has it inside of him. “The new stuff.”

Donghyuck raises a finger to his chin in consideration. His face is scrunched up in his confusion. “Can spiders do that?”

Mark doesn't know. He’s not any more of a spider expert than he was before a dumb arachnid nibbled on his skin for dinner.

“I don't know,” Mark mumbles. For the first time since waking up, he feels tired. He really doesn't know _anything_ about what's going on, and they've been walking around the city for half an hour when they could have been sat on Donghyuck’s floor scavenging through the internet for answers. Not that there would be any scientific studies on high school boys turned spider.

(For a moment, Mark’s mind drifts off to Franz Kafka’s _Metamorphosis._ He cringes, just a little.)

Donghyuck waves his hand. “Whatever, let’s keep going.” He slowly backs off of the sidewalk down the curb and into the street between two buildings.

“To where? Why didn't we just take the subway-”

Suddenly, Mark feels his entire body seemingly electrocute itself, every hair on his arm stood up on edge and his muscles tensed in anticipation of _something_ . That same feeling you get when you're fighting a boss in a video game and it has a millimeter of HP left and so do you, _that_ feeling, but tenfold; Mark feels like someone’s just plugged him into a wall. 

He looks up, and everything happens at once.

 _“Hyuck_!” 

There’s a car hurtling out of that tiny little alleyway, surely passing the speed limit, flying towards his friend. All he can hear is the sound of its tires rolling over the gravel, the hum of the engine, the quiet bass of a radio. 

Mark’s body is moving before his brain is once again, his hands reaching for the boy in front of him, trying to do something, anything-

He distantly registers Donghyuck hurtling forward, _out of danger_ \- and feels relief in his heart- but he seems to be forgetting something vital. That car is still hurtling towards him at speeds inadvisable for human contact, and Mark is now standing in the impact zone. 

For an instant, the world is moving in slow motion: Hyuck’s hair flying in every direction, his necklace not faring much better with the chain flailing limply around, his body falling slowly, slowly, hands held out in front of his face as he reaches back out for Mark.

With no more movement than a flinch, Mark makes contact.

Mark feels the cold metal of the vehicle press against his body just as quickly as he finds himself in midair, spiraling around like a yo-yo let loose from its grasp. He’s spinning and spinning, before suddenly, he lands again on his own two feet. 

The world around him feels like _nothing_ , now. He feels like a wisp of smoke, free to roam the air, nonexistent, on a cloud. The light around him is so bright that for a moment it's all he can see.

But then he's blinking, forcing his eyes to focus on _something_ , and he glances up to meet Donghyuck’s wide, terrified eyes from where the younger lays propped up on one arm on the asphalt, his mouth agape. One of Mark’s hands is pressed against the road in front of him, the other held out behind him as if it had just thrown something from it, arched. He imagines his body stance is much too comfortable for a child who has just been struck by a speeding sedan. 

The car in question is about four feet away from where Mark had landed, unmoving, though the driver is shaking hard enough that Mark can see it from this distance.

Mark doesn't feel any pain. If there's anything he’s sure of, it's that getting hit by a car and getting sent on a trip into the sky results in _pain_. He should be writhing on the floor, broken ribs, blood spilling from wounds all over his body. Donghyuck shouldn't be staring at him in awe, and there shouldn't be a dozen onlookers who had all had their hearts fall into their asses, now looking at him with as much surprise written into their faces as that which decorates Donghyuck's.

 _Something saved him_.

 _It_ saved him.

Suddenly, Mark’s brain snaps back to attention, and that wisp-like feeling leaves him the same way water rushes through a burst dam, quickly and almost all at once. He straightens his spine- painlessly, at that- and spins around to regard the crowd of people that have gathered around the scene, blinking sheepishly at their curious gazes. A strange embarrassment begins to creep up his neck- surely painting his face a brilliant shade of red- as he finally completes his turn to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, who is still fallen in a heap on the asphalt below. When their eyes lock, however, Donghyuck scrambles to his feet almost comically, staring Mark up and down in visible confusion and worry as he creeps toward his friend in the same way a predator would quietly approach prey.

Donghyuck reaches both of his hands out slowly, like he fears that Mark will turn into dust if he so much as touches him, his eyebrows wrinkled into something nasty; finally, though, his palms reach Mark’s shoulder, and Donghyuck’s eyes rake across Mark’s visage the same way Johnny’s do when Mark gets into trouble, when he would stumble in upon his little brother eating a piece of paper or chewing on the hard plastic of a Lego in his youth. 

“Mark?” Donghyuck sounds scared as he says the name like a question, his fingers gripping Mark tightly. “Are you…” He trails off, like there isn't anything else he can say. What _can_ he say? 

Mark reaches up with both of his arms to rest his hands on Donghyuck’s elbows assuredly, nodding with fervency. 

“I'm okay,” Mark asserts, even though he most certainly is not. He should be a _heap on the ground_. 

Donghyuck looks just as unconvinced as Mark feels, seeming so much smaller than usual as he stares on at his friend in visible concern. He looks a mess, now; after all, he’s just been flung to the road- his hair is flying every which way, and his necklace is now on completely backwards. But, above all else, the frown worrying at Donghyuck’s face is what keeps Mark's attention away from the rest. 

They’ve all gotten into shenanigans before: which teenage boys don't? Donghyuck has dragged Mark along on so many separate fool's errands that he lost count of them somewhere after the hours they had spent catching frogs in a nearby park, just to assemble them into a circle and dub them the Council of Frogs. Yes, they had been seventeen. Yes, Renjun did take photos. 

But this is someplace far past those teenage shenanigans, somewhere on a road they'd never planned to venture down; now, Donghyuck is _afraid_ , and the fear that he feels is nowhere near the panic Mark can feel pulsing in his own chest. 

Donghyuck- surely sensing this- bites into his lip and pulls his arms away from Mark’s shoulder, his left hand grasping Mark’s right. He starts to pull the older towards the sidewalk away from the scene, and Mark lets him, his mind blank and his body feeling limp.

* * *

“What’re we doing here?”

The sun is just as bright as it had been when Mark had crept across the neighboring blocks like a ghost, still boring into his skin, still giving him a headache. The cars around him are just as loud, and the memory of vehicle metal against his skin is still fresh in his memory. The two of them now stand in front of a colorful building maybe half a mile away from where Donghyuck lives, decrepit old wood painted a horrific dark green color. In the windows there are overflowing pots full of flowers and plants of other varieties, all culminating to form one painful rainbow of hues against an otherwise black-brown-and-white street. Its sign reads _Fiore_ in golden block lettering atop a black background.

It's a place they've been a million times. One might wonder what business a bunch of high school boys have frequenting a flower shop, or what business anybody has frequenting a flower shop, really. That question can quickly be answered.

“Gotta do something real quick.”

A face pops up behind the dirty and worn glass, blurred by its age but still visible. When Donghyuck sees the person inside the building, he waves enthusiastically, and the distorted form within waves just as enthusiastically back. Or so he thinks. Mark smiles. 

The front door opens with a chime of gentle bells, and standing in the doorway is none other than flower connoisseur, art extraordinaire, and lifetime friend of Johnny’s: Ten Leechaiyapornkul. 

Ten was one of Mark’s first memories, a memory infused into his life before even Jaehyun. The Thai man had been Johnny’s very first playdate (while Mark had been sentient enough to understand what a playdate was, at least), Johnny’s first crush in middle school (which Johnny _definitely_ had to have forgotten about telling to a five year old beansprout of a brother), and now, his closest confidant besides Jaehyun. The three of them used to move the same way peanut butter, jelly, and bread did; of course, with Jaehyun as the bread that held them all together with his calm rationale and logic. Once, Taeyong had told Mark that if you’d left Johnny and Ten alone for more than five minutes back when they were in high school, they were almost assured to have to clean up the aftermath of an explosion.

Now, Ten stands in front of the two with hands on his hips, clothes tied neatly together behind a dark green apron. Beyond the loose brown pants he wears or the sandals or the white blouse, Ten’s outfit is topped off with a nametag the size of a coaster, reading his name surrounded by a smattering of hearts and roses. His wedding ring glints on his finger in the bright midday sunlight.

“If it isn't any other than Mark and Donghyuck!” The man says happily, smile as bright as the summer sun. His cheeks glow amiably as he gestures them into the old building with a fast hand. Mark follows after Donghyuck confusedly.

“Hey, Ten,” Mark returns Ten’s smile with a smile of his own, shy almost.

“Come on, don't give me that.” Ten chides with the ice that only someone familiar with Mark could. After all, Mark has known Ten since near toddlerhood. Ten grabs onto Mark and pulls the younger into a warm hug as Donghyuck skitters quietly further into the store. “Kun was just saying that we needed to stop over, check in on the two of you.”

“How is he?” Mark follows quietly behind the others and lets the door close behind him. Mark definitely has to laud Kun for his ability to wrangle someone as boisterous and wild as Ten is. He thinks back to their tiny wedding only three years ago, when he was fifteen and his brother twenty-three, days before their lives went up in flames. Mark shakes his head to clear his thoughts. 

“Good as ever. Working himself like a dog, but you know how he is.” Ten pauses to reach into his back pocket for his phone, shining its lock screen right in Mark’s face. Pictured there is Kun, a brunette now, one cat in each arm, a grin splitting his face and rounding his cheeks even more. “Louis has a little brother now! Leon. He was Kun’s idea, said that Louis was getting bored by himself. Isn't he just the cutest thing?” 

At the pure affection dripping from Ten’s voice, Mark can't help but to smile widely. “Aw, man. He's cute as hell.”

“I know!” 

While Mark and Ten converse excitedly near the doors, an occasional giggle or exclamation characteristic of only Mark coming from their direction, Donghyuck browses the shelves and displays for exactly what he’s looking for. He lets his fingers brush over the bulbs and petals before- _Aha!_ There they are. 

Donghyuck pulls the colorful flower out from where it rests, lifting it up to his nose to take a sniff. The smell is comforting, warm almost; he shivers in happiness. 

“Is this supposed to help somehow?” 

Suddenly, Mark is directly behind Donghyuck, and the younger of the two flinches in response. Mark blinks his doe eyes back at him, and Donghyuck smirks.

“What? No. I just had to buy flowers for my mom.” He sighs, pulling his wallet out from his sweatpants and lifting two or three more out from the display. Ten observes quietly from further down the aisle, an eyebrow raised, probably wondering what business the two of them had here to begin with. Ah, Ten. Ever the analyst.

Mark stares blankly at Donghyuck.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes at Mark’s gaze. “I’m just kidding. Don't worry, everything happens for a reason!” 

The younger bounces off towards the cash register, and Ten follows, but not before turning his curious eyes back on Mark. Having no answer for him, Mark shrugs his shoulders, and Ten raises his chin. 

The three flowers that Donghyuck had picked out were as deep a red as blood, the color reaching the end of the petals and dipping underneath. They look baby-soft as he slaps them down onto the counter without a single worry for their wellbeing. Mark watches Ten cringe. 

“Two teenage boys out buying lilies on a Saturday morning. My, oh my. What could they be up to?”

Mark and Donghyuck shrug at the exact same time, almost robotic. Ten’s eyes narrow even more. Hey, Mark wants to shout, I’m just tagging along for the journey. Did I mention I’m shooting fluids out of my wrists?

“Nuthin’.” Mark sniffs. He doesn't know why they're _here_ , after all. Donghyuck, the great actor he is, keeps that innocent look in his face all the while. Mark will definitely have to clap him on the back for this one. 

Ten is notoriously nosy. That's just… him. He looks forward to the gossip Mark’ll relay to him about current happenings, and he thrives off of it. He’s been like that since forever, Johnny had told him. Now, Mark is wondering why Donghyuck would bring them to Mister “I’ll Probably Tell Your Brothers Everything.”

Ten fixes Mark with a stare that reminds him of Johnny’s, unbelieving and absolutely not convinced. The man tosses the paper bag he had been prepared to insert Donghyuck’s flowers into to the side, now furrowing his eyebrows at Mark, and Mark exclusively. Donghyuck smirks out of the corner of his eye, and that clap on the back is definitely morphing into a smack on the back of the head. 

“You’re serious?” Ten says, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You came here on a Saturday morning to buy lilies?”

“That's what you do at a flower shop,” Donghyuck mutters. He jumps as Ten suddenly spirals to face him. 

“Shut it!” 

“I hope you have more things to worry about than teenage drama, Ten.” Mark says snidely, dodging the hand that Ten definitely would have used to grab at his ears.

Finally, the heat leaves Ten, and he once again lifts up the paper bag to slide the flowers into it. Instead, something soft crosses his face, something that doesn't quite often settle down onto Ten, and Mark stands up at attention. 

“Just…” Ten trails off a little bit as he hands the plants back to Donghyuck, who takes them graciously and slides his wallet back into his pocket. His voice drops down into a whisper. “Johnny.” 

Mark squints. Does Ten know something about why his brother has been acting so strange for the past few days? His silence incentivizes Ten to continue.

“Just look out for him, alright? And it wasn't Ten who told you to.” 

He frowns, ready to question his brother’s friend some more, but Donghyuck is grabbing at his elbow before he could get the words out. The younger tugs him towards the doors, waving back at Ten all the while, and shoving Mark back outside. 

Mark doesn't miss the soft smile playing at Ten’s lips as they leave.

* * *

“Phase one!”

Donghyuck’s voice rings clear throughout the near-silent lot they stand in, empty save for them and the playground nearby. They’re at their old elementary school, looking much tinier than Mark remembers, its colors less vibrant, and it's structure a whole lot more run down. Distantly, he wonders if any real work is going into its maintenance. 

Donghyuck still hasn't told him a single thing, instead opting to remain completely silent as they traversed the borough to make their way to their final destination. Now, they stand in an empty parking lot, Donghyuck with a bag of flowers, and Mark full of… spider power.

“Phase one of what?” Mark feels exasperated, now. They’ve only been out for less than an hour, but he feels as if he’s aged ten years. It's probably the car thing. Yeah, definitely the car thing. “Can you just tell me-”

As he begins to pull the flowers out of the bag that holds them, Donghyuck simultaneously starts to back away from Mark, holding up a hand to halt Mark’s movements when he goes to follow him. Now, he’s even more confused, but Donghyuck offers a reassuring smile. From Donghyuck, however, it doesn't do much good comforting Mark.

He throws one down onto the concrete, backs up a few more feet, and throws down another. Ultimately, he winds up at the nearest bench- one situated on the sidewalk- and he places the last flower onto its backrest. Upon placing the final flower, Donghyuck makes a mad dash back in Mark’s direction, finally coming to a screeching halt a few feet in front of him. 

“Okay,” Mark starts, now that Donghyuck is clearly done with… whatever he was doing. “Can you tell me what’s up now?” 

Mark almost flinches at how bright Donghyuck’s returning smile is. He’s at least twenty times more excited than Mark is to test out his powers, which makes sense, considering the fact that he’s not the one experiencing them living inside of his small body. 

“We’re gonna see how far you can shoot your webs.”

What?

“Hyuck, you bought flowers with real money just so-”

“Shush! I did, and now we’re doing this! Come on, Spider-Boy-” Donghyuck ducks to dodge the hand that Mark swings at the back of his head. One day, a hit is going to land, and Mark anticipates Donghyuck’s shriek of surprise. “Come on, _Mark_.” He corrects, twirling around and pointing at the closest flower, which is about a dozen feet away- farther away than Donghyuck’s blinds had been. Its red seems to glow in the midday sunlight bearing down on it like rain during a storm. 

“Hyuck, I-” Mark starts, ready to tell Donghyuck off, ready to tell him how stupid of an idea this all was in the first place, ready to crawl back into his tiny apartment and back under his sheets and try his hardest to forget that any of this even happened. Mark wants to go back to the Mark of yesterday, when his worst worry was chemistry, and his greatest fear was Yukhei ever catching him staring just a little too long at his eyes. But suddenly, Donghyuck is gripping at his shoulder with a stern hand, forcing Mark to glance up and meet his eyes.

There burns a fire of determination, of insistence; there, Mark sees that no matter how much _he’s_ willing to give up, Donghyuck is not willing to afford that same luxury to him.

“I said we’d figure this out together, right?”

Gone is the playfulness that so characterizes his best friend, flames of fortitude now in its place. Mark can’t help but blink a couple of times, stunned into silence, before he finally finds it in himself to nod once more. Mark doesn’t trust himself right now, but another part of him places all of its confidence into Donghyuck’s sturdiness. 

“Right.” He parrots, and with a brisk nod, Donghyuck pulls his hand from Mark’s shoulder and spirals around once more, pointing a strong finger in the direction of the flower as if he were the captain of a pirate ship. “Now shoot!”

Mark is caught up in Donghyuck’s own excitement for a second, lets himself dwell there for a few seconds as he shakes up his arms to loosen them. “Alright.” He gives himself a couple of noncommittal hops as he wiggles his arms a little more, all in an attempt to amp himself up just a small bit. “Alright. Here we go. Alright.” Once he finally deems himself ready, he raises up his arm.

And nothing happens.

And then it hits Mark that he has no idea how he did it the last time. Just like how he has no idea how he stuck that lever to his hand. Or survived being hit by a car. Just as quickly as he realizes this, it seems Donghyuck does as well.

“Um.” The younger starts.

Mark raises his arm again, fingers all splayed out. He flexes his muscles. “Pew.”

Absolutely nothing.

Donghyuck coughs, but Mark knows that it was just an attempt to hide a laugh. He quickly turns a glare onto the younger, and he raises both of his hands in mock surrender. 

“Good first attempt,” Donghyuck mutters under his breath, still trying his hardest to not collapse in a fit of laughter. “Let’s try… doing it this time.”

“You think I’m not trying?” Mark knows his face is a burning red by now. 

“I think that throwing your hand out like Iron Man isn’t going to make anything happen.” Donghyuck corrects, seeming to ponder something for a moment or two before cautiously grabbing at Mark’s hand where it’s still extended in a position that is, undeniably, Iron Man-like. Donghyuck’s hands reach Mark’s fingers, where he plays around with them for a second and twists Mark’s arm so that his palm is facing upwards. 

“Maybe… try it like this.”

His fingers have been repositioned in a way so that both his index finger and pinky are pointed outwards, his ring and middle fingers bent inwards so that they are aimed towards his wrist, where the webs should emerge. 

Mark snickers. “What, like, ‘rock on-’” Mark’s voice is cut off by his own shriek as webs suddenly explode from the middle of his wrist. The gesture had been nonchalant, however, so the fluid only shoots a matter of feet before plopping down onto the concrete. This time, he easily disconnects it from its origin.

“Bingo.” Donghyuck claps his hands together, and Mark actually smiles. Smiles about the webs in his wrist.

“You’re so smart,” Mark sighs sardonically, and Donghyuck flips his hair back in response, exuding pompousness. 

“I know! Now the flower.” 

Mark nods, and whirls around to face the closest lily resting on the ground in front of them. Donghyuck shuffles a bit so that he’s standing behind Mark just the smallest amount as Mark lifts his arm up, this time his right. He bends his fingers the same way that Donghyuck had before, this time angling his wrist just a little bit more, and he flexes.

The webs shoot out of his wrist in a straight line, directly towards where he aimed them at the flower. They hit their target, and Mark and Donghyuck both start cheering like they’d just won the national championships.

“Do it again, do it again!” Donghyuck chants and smacks at Mark’s shoulder, pointing excitedly at the second lily several more feet away from the first. Mark detaches the web with a flex that comes to him naturally, like he’s always known how to do it, and shoots out towards the next flower.

The webs hit the flower with ease, and the two release yet another triumphant shriek.

When he spins around to meet Donghyuck’s eyes, alight with the same joy he’s sure is in his very own gaze, Donghyuck returns a very polite grin.

“Told you everything would be okay.”

Mark rolls his eyes even though he knows that Donghyuck is right. He feels kind of shitty for doubting his friend in the first place, but in his defense, it’s not as if he’d been prepared to wake up on a Saturday morning with super strength and webs in his wrists. He faces the flowers once more, prepared to shoot at the last flower so far off that he’s not even sure he can see it all that clearly. At Donghyuck’s nod, he fires. 

And hits it.

“Woah.” They both say, smartly, at the same time.

* * *

“If the research I did while you were in the bathroom is correct, spiders stick to walls using a million little tiny hairs to hold them up.”

Mark stares very hard at his hands. He squints. He doesn’t see anything.

When he glances back up at Donghyuck, the younger is staring at him incredulously. 

“What?” Mark says. 

“Nothing, Mark. Nothing.” Donghyuck pats him on the back. “So what probably happened when you grabbed the lever was that you stuck to it by accident and pulled it off as a result. Now we have to figure out… how to make you stick when you _want_ to.”

Mark nods briskly. “So there has to be a trigger, just like with the webs. Or else I’d stick to the sidewalk too.” 

“Yup.”

(Mark winds up stuck to the slide on the playground. When he relaxes enough to release, he falls into the wood chips in a heap.)

* * *

“I don't know too much about spiders, but I do know that their webs are strong enough to support their entire body, _and_ the weight of others.”

“Donghyuck, I am _not_ dangling from the monkey bars at our old elementary school.”

“You have to _try_ it. We have to test the full capabilities of these powers, remember?”

“Yes, but we’re literally trespassing on school property.”

“Who cares! You didn’t care when you were shooting at flowers.”

Mark huffs.

“Why is this shit so high, isn't it for-” Mark grunts as he climbs to the first bar. “-children?”

“And children are crafty!”

“Isn't it gonna pull at my wrists?”

“You won't know until you try! Come _on_.”

(Mark ends up upside down on the monkey bars, dangling from a singular web from his left hand. Again, he falls, and this time. Donghyuck takes a picture and sends it to their group chat. When Yukhei replies with a “?” and Jeno with a “what the fuck,” Donghyuck just snickers.)

* * *

Mark makes it back home as the sun is falling beneath the tallest buildings, as the night’s first shadows are creeping into their home. He’s ten times as sore as he was before he left, definitely bruised on his tailbone, and carrying a lot more with him.

(He and Donghyuck had parted with a half-hearted hug and a promise to discuss more in English on Monday. Donghyuck also made him promise that this wouldn’t change their Sunday Overwatch games.)

Everything’s off when Mark steps into their living room, kicking off his shoes without a care and cracking his neck, even the television that Johnny so often forgets is even on. It is indeed five-thirty now, and Johnny’s probably getting ready for their outing. A haphazard glance towards Johnny’s bedroom at the far end of the hall lets him know that that’s where his brother is, light spilling into the dusky hallway from the cracked door. However, Johnny makes no move to leave the room. He probably didn’t even hear Mark come in. 

As Mark paces towards his room, he hears his brother’s voice rising up from the silence. So, being the curious guy he is, Mark sneaks closer to where Johnny’s door is opened.

There’s another voice coming from in there, a quiet one; Johnny must be on the phone. But that voice is familiar, one that Mark knows like the back of his hand, and it only takes him a matter of seconds to recognize it as Jaehyun’s.

“I just…” Mark can hear Johnny’s voice waver, no matter how little. Around Mark, he never lets that happen; he has to maintain an image for his little brother, an image of strength and authority, even then Mark can see right through the façade. But to Jaehyun, to his best friend, it's almost as if a different Johnny lives, one that lets his insecurities shine through tiny cracks.

“Am I not pushing him hard enough?” 

Mark’s breath catches in his throat.

“No, don't say that. Don't blame yourself,” Jaehyun’s crackly voice intercepts through the phone's receiver. “He’s got a lot going on right now. So do you. You remember senior year, how hard that was on each and every one of us. Maybe he’s just going through a rough patch.” 

Johnny huffs. “He doesn't talk to me, but I know something's frustrating him. I just don't want to force him to say something before he’s ready.”

“You won't have to, okay? I'm sure he’ll come around eventually.” 

Mark backs up just as slowly as he’d approached, and once he gets close to his bedroom door, he makes sure to make a racket opening it up and slipping inside. 

He had… no idea that Johnny was worrying like that. Distantly, he asks himself if that’s what Ten was talking about earlier in the day, but that can’t be the case. There’s something up with Johnny beyond _Mark_ , and he has to figure out what it is. Mark throws himself back onto his bed and groans. No matter what, there’s always something for him to worry about.

Mark hears a gentle knock at his bedroom door before it creaks open, his brother poking his head in through the crack. For a minute, Mark wants to feign sleep, unwilling to talk about his most assured chemistry failure, but there’s no sign of anything confrontational in Johnny's tone as he speaks.

“Hey,” Johnny whispers, and Mark responds with a nonchalant “what's up.” The older squeezes in just a little bit more, long legs following the rest of his torso into the room. 

“Dinner at Yuta’s place?” 

Mark definitely perks up at this. Yuta- one of Johnny’s closest friends growing up- had inherited his family’s restaurant a few years back, so Johnny and Company found themselves frequenting it more often than they did when they were kids. Mark had been dragged along on a few of those nights, Johnny far too uncomfortable leaving him to do nothing by himself in those early days, the delightful teenage boy in a group of men in their mid-twenties. They’d seen Mark in _diapers_ , but the food’s so good that Mark never really cares to think about it anyway.

“Yeah, sounds good. Let me just change my clothes real quick.”

“Alright.” Johnny responds. On his way out, it looks as if he wants to say something to Mark, like it’s on the tip of his tongue, but whatever it is, he opts not to, instead backing out just as quietly. 

Mark watches a shadow follow his brother out of his bedroom, and wonders silently to himself if he carries a burden just as heavy as Mark’s.

* * *

“Oh, Jaehyun! Hey.” When the hostess- Momo, Mark notes- guides them to a table near the quieter back of the restaurant, he’s shocked to see Johnny’s very own best friend already sitting and waiting there. Johnny hadn’t mentioned that he would be coming, and by the look on Johnny’s face, it seems he is now realizing that it slipped his mind as well. 

“You sound shocked to see me,” Jaehyun chuckles, standing as they approach and pulling Johnny into a tight hug that lasts just a second too long. Mark doesn’t think about it, and instead remembers the fear that had shaken his brother’s voice on that phone call. “Long day?”

“That, and I wasn’t expecting you. Not that I’m not happy to see you, man.” Mark plops down in one of the chairs, letting his eyes rake across the room. It’s the same as ever, not too loud but not too tranquil at the same time. There are servers rushing about, some with notepads in hand and others carrying platters of food. The warm, soft glow of light cast about the entire room never fails to bring a sense of calm to Mark’s heart, reminding him of familiar things after a day of anything but.

“You didn't tell him?” Jaehyun whispers, thinking he’s much quieter than he actually is. Johnny damn near hisses in response, and Jaehyun’s mouth closes with a quickness.

“Tell me what? I said it’s not a big deal that you’re here. Not the first time.” Mark tucks his legs under the table. He’s really not all that worried about Jaehyun being here. It means Johnny won't press him about his grades. Small victories.

“Nothing,” Johnny says, just as Jaehyun opens his mouth back up. Mark doesn't miss the tiny glare that Jaehyun sends in his brother’s direction, and one of his eyebrows raises in questioning. Johnny, seeing this, waves Mark off. “What do you want?”

It’s not a question Mark needs to ponder. Distantly, he’s thankful for that too. Another thing he _knows_. “The usual.”

Johnny grins. “Don't know why I even asked.”

Even though Donghyuck and Mark had spent the better part of the day trying to understand Mark’s newfound abilities, and even though he _does_ understand them a bit better, there’s still a gaping hole somewhere in his heart. Something that he still can’t understand: _Why? Why_ can he do this? Why can he stick to walls and shoot webs out of his wrist and get hit by cars without a single scratch? And what in God’s name is he supposed to do with that?

It’s an hour later, when the food has come and gone, easy conversation flowing, that Mark gets his answer.

Somehow, the last season of Game of Thrones had been brought up in their long winding conversation, a topic Johnny was more than ready to argue about. He’s complained to Mark in the past that Jaehyun was _somehow_ a fan of how the story had ended: in Johnny’s book, the one and only. Mark lets out a huff of laughter as Jaehyun and Johnny start bickering with one another over Jon Snow’s punishment and Bran’s appointment as the King, ready to cut them off and turn the flow of conversation in another direction, but before he can, another surprise guest appears to their left. 

“Hey, everyone.” Comes the sweet voice of Taeyong, no Donghyuck in tow. He must be at home with their parents. Taeyong always strangely shows up in weird places where he’s not expected. Sometimes, Mark wonders if he has a supernatural sense of his own to pinpoint his friends’ locations.

“Oh! Yong, what are you doing here?” Jaehyun casually slides into Korean as Taeyong pats his and Johnny’s heads in greeting. 

“Came to see Yuta about something,” Taeyong hums in response, lifting up his hands. “Hey, Mark. You’re all over the place today.”

Mark rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You know how it is.”

“I do indeed remember those days.” Taeyong giggles quietly. “Enjoy ‘em while you can. But lemme steal your brother away for a second. I need them to see this too.”

Johnny blinks up at Taeyong as Mark nods his affirmation, standing as Taeyong grabs at his arm and pulls him up when he doesn’t move to get up on his own. Jaehyun stands as well, and when Taeyong speedwalks to the back of the restaurant where Mark knows Yuta’s office is, somewhere, Mark lets out a chuckle.

When their three forms are gone from his sight, Mark takes a chance to lean back in his chair and stare up at the ceiling above him. For the first time in hours, he’s left alone with his thoughts.

They flow in his brain like a fluid as viscous as the webs in his wrists, as a river made of nothing but sludge. He still feels as if he’s been plugged into the world, as if he _is_ everything at once; as he shuts his eyes, it’s like can feel the restaurant moving around him, the individual people and the food on their tables, their footsteps and their voices and-

“Hey, Mark.” 

A cheery voice calls from behind him, just loud enough to reach his ears but not to travel too far through the restaurant. Mark jumps a little bit, lost in his own head, but when he turns around, he’s met with a smile full of amity. 

Taeil- like the rest of Johnny's friends- has had a constant presence in Mark’s life from before he really has memories of being alive. He remembers being in elementary, his brother halfway through his stint in high school; back in those days, a floppy haired Johnny had trailed behind his upperclassman looking for guidance in every walk of his life, desperately trying to learn how to be as responsible as one Moon Taeil, and to be just as perfect at doing it as he was. 

Taeil’s the oldest of Johnny’s friends, now twenty-seven; he has a steady job down at the museum not too far from Yuta’s place as their head curator, making a name for himself in the business at such a young age. 

(Back in his freshman year, Mark’s advisor had thrown him in an art appreciation class against his will. They’d taken a field trip one month into the misery, and when Mark had walked past the museum’s tall white columns and massive double doors only to be greeted by Taeil’s smiling face, everything had been worth it.)

“Oh! Hey,” Mark responds as Taeil moves closer to the table. Johnny had left an empty chair when he’d left to go… wherever he went with Jaehyun and Taeyong, and Taeil takes it upon himself to plop down into it, letting out a hefty sigh all the while, not once mentioning why he’s here to begin with. The sweater he wears is grey, and he pulls down at the sleeves as he settles into the seat, eyes never leaving Mark’s. His gaze is intense, really, glimmering with something that Mark can't exactly place; Taeil and Mark don't talk all that often, but somehow, with those eyes, Mark feels as if Taeil knows everything about him, everything he’s trying to hide, everything that even _he_ doesn't understand. He senses his cheeks start to heat up. 

“You missed dinner.”

“Eh,” Taeil waves him off. Taeil comes and goes as he pleases, late or early depending on the day. He exudes an air of formality- Mark supposes that’s what happens when you have your life together and you're content with it- yet he confuses Mark more than anybody else. 

“How's school?” Taeil asks, nonchalant as he plays absentmindedly with the edges of the tablecloth that hides his legs beneath the table. Mark blinks once or twice before he raises his hand up to run awkwardly at the back of his neck. He’s not too excited to answer. He’s kinda tired of the question.

“Uh…” _Just tell the truth? No, maybe he’ll talk to Johnny about it. Mm, then again, no, he doesn't seem like the type. This seems like a place you can tell a man something in confidence, like-_ “Everything’s cool, really.”

A laugh falls from Taeil’s lips. “That's what a kid says when they don't wanna admit they're having a hard time.” 

Like always, Taeil hits the nail on the head. Mark sighs and lets all the tension bleed from his shoulders for a second as he slumps further into his chair. 

“Don't tell Johnny?” 

Taeil looks at him for a second, amused, but a few beats later he mimes zipping his mouth closed with his fingers. “My lips are sealed.” 

Mark nods in thanks, taking a sip of his nearly empty glass of water. Taeil finally looks away for a second to watch the action. 

“It's just school giving you a hard time, huh?” Taeil hums, just as quiet and non-suspecting as ever.

Mark's thoughts come to a screeching halt at that. He distantly hears Donghyuck’s voice ringing in his ears, imploring him to _not tell anybody about this,_ but for some reason, the honey in Taeil’s voice tempts him to tell the truth about everything that's happened in the past two days. It's that easy, right? Telling your brother’s friend about a spider bite and subsequent freak show of “powers.” Mark feels like it _should_ be that easy, but it's not. Just like Taeil moments ago, Mark pretends to zip his mouth. 

Taeil raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright, I won't press a teenage boy about his drama. Just wanted to check up on you, see how you're doing. You _and_ your brother.”

 _That_ makes Mark raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Taeil slides further back in his chair so that he’s pressed against the posterior, clearly trying to make himself more comfortable. His eyes trail off to follow one of the workers as he takes an order at another table. “I mean that I took your brother out for lunch on Friday and he looked like he could pass out at any second. He’s working himself too damn hard these days, I think. Drilled that into his own head. Johnny won't stop until he gets what _he_ believes is the grand prize. The finish line.” Taeil, ever the observer.

Johnny, Mark thinks, doesn't remember what his _own_ finish line is. Mark voices his thoughts.

“Mm, you’re right. I don't think so either, but…” Taeil trails off, leaving his words hanging in the air between them, and Mark inhales.

“But he’s doing it for me,” He _hates_ saying that, hates knowing what his brother is going through and not being able to do a single thing about it. Mark resents the feeling that comes along with the words. Taeil knows it, too.

Taeil says nothing in response to that. Maybe he doesn't agree, or maybe he does but doesn't want to make Mark feel worse. He seems like the type to do the latter. Mark hates that, too; most days, he wishes that people would just be honest with him. Johnny’s not honest with him. He _knows_ that for certain, and there's not a lot of things that Mark _knows_. When he finds something that he does, he clings onto it like a lifeline he's never had, like the only thing he's ever known. Uncertainty is what clouds his days and nights, and every moment without it is a moment well lived. However, that's all his and Johnny’s lives are: uncertain. Now, he’s shooting webs out of his wrists, sticking to everything, and elbowing holes into walls that he’s barely touched. For the first time that whole weekend, Mark feels fear for the future curl deep in his gut.

The car, the webs, the walls, all that fear had been _momentary,_ something that he had to overcome in the moment. Now, Mark feels that _fear_ and _uncertainty_ start to dance a dangerous tango in the pits of his stomach, because now everything feels real. Now he's thinking about how these... newfound abilities would interlace with the life he’s supposed to be living, the life where he goes to high school and gets good grades so he can get scholarships for college, and then he goes home to a tiny apartment with his older brother. Life is supposed to be a _cycle_ , one he’s already adapted to and one he’s unsure he can change. He's scared.

But another voice speaks to him from somewhere deep in his head, a voice he doesn't recognize. It's disembodied, almost, like he’s hearing it from down an empty hallway; yet, at the same time, it sounds more familiar than anything else he’s ever known.

 _When will you change, Mark? When will you_ **_make_ ** _a change?_

_When will you do something for the world?_

“You really have a lot going for you, Mark.” 

Taeil’s voice snaps Mark back into reality, loud amidst his spiraling thoughts. He flinches, and Taeil notices. He keeps talking anyway. 

“You've got something in you, something good. Something nobody else can ever take away from you.” 

The restaurant bustles around them, but everything just sounds like background noise. 

“Use it. I think you know how.” 

Somehow, Taeil knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Maybe Mark is right about him. Maybe he _can_ see into his soul. 

Later that night, when Mark is tucked beneath his comforter and his stomach full, he lets his eyes slide shut, his soul full of a quiet sort of determination.

* * *

On his walk to school on Monday morning, everything slides into place.

It had all been quite normal. Painfully normal, in fact, since he and Donghyuck had parted on Saturday afternoon. On Sunday, they played Overwatch, he lazily did his homework, and then he managed to get Johnny to put his computer down for more than three minutes so that two of them could have a mini Star Wars marathon, clearing the original three episodes. That morning had all been normal too, what with Mark tugging on the first pair of sweatpants he could find in his drawer and a hoodie to match, eating the breakfast that Johnny had thrown together in ten minutes yet still tasted like heaven, and set out for school at a refreshing 7:32.

After Saturday, however, Mark feels a lot more attuned to his newfound abilities. The outside no longer rings in his ears like an airhorn directly next to his head; instead, it sounds as it did to him before, yet it still thrums in his veins.

However, there’s one loud sound missing, one that he’s been used to in the years since he and Johnny had moved into their apartment. As he strides past the bodega, there’s no Mr. Thomas to yell “good morning” at him. 

He freezes. 

For as long as he’s lived in this neighborhood, he’s had Mr. Thomas there to tell him good morning. Another consistency he’s come to expect. The man really never leaves, and when he does, it’s to go into the bodega. No matter how loud he is, he’s kind, and has never done anything except extend a kind hand to Mark and everybody else around. Mark’s bought him lunch with the pocket change he carries around more times than he can count. But a glance up and down the block doesn’t show him Mr. Thomas, not anywhere. Fear starts to worry at the base of his throat. 

After looking around one more time, Mark pushes his way through the front door of the shop. He’s not in there, either, he thinks as he rakes his eyes across aisles and shelves.

“Hey, Martina.” Mark calls out for the woman situated behind the front counter. She’s nice, always has been, and she co-owns the place with her brother. She glances up at his shout and smiles in greeting.

“Hey, what’s up?” She responds in kind. “Want a snack before school?”

Mark shakes his head. “No, just… have you seen Mr. Thomas?”

Martina tilts her head to the side and raises one of her eyebrows. She drops whatever she was doing behind the counter, moving to step in front of it. “He’s not out front?”

“No, I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Oh, geez. He hasn’t come in yet today.” She looks worried now too, and that doesn’t help to calm Mark down one bit. He glimpses around the building one more time like that’ll miraculously make the man appear inside of it. “Should I call-” Martina starts, before stopping herself. They both know that the cops won’t care one bit about the homeless man.

“No, no. I… I’m gonna go look for him.” Mark says, despite himself. The words fall out of his mouth before he can even stop himself. He’s already setting back out for the glass doors. 

Mark has no idea what he’s thinking. Hell, he doesn’t even think he _is_ thinking. The only thing that he can even conjure up in his brain is that a man is in danger. Martina shouts at him, something about him having school to get to, something about calling her brother Stevie, but Mark is already outside by the time her words even register in his head. Mark’s legs take him to the right, and he has no choice but to follow his own steps. 

It’s about a block down when Mark passes an alley, and he feels his fingertips start to tingle where his hands rest at his sides. 

When he lifts his head up, it feels like the car all over again. 

Because Mr. Thomas is _there_ , he’s there in that alley, but he’s surrounded by three large figures wearing all black. Mark barely sees them, though, despite the fact that his body most certainly does. No, Mark’s eyes fall to where Mr. Thomas is collapsed on the concrete, unmoving. His friendly and kind eyes are shut, his limbs askew-

Mark hears a faint groan. 

Like clockwork, Mark throws his backpack onto the ground and dashes towards the perpetrators without even the slightest idea of what he would do once he reached them. But it seems he was worrying for nothing, because _just like with the car_ , he’s moving all on his own. 

“Hey!” 

Mark’s shout echoes in the mostly-empty alleyway, and in turn, all three forms spiral around to face him. Their faces are all covered, ski masks and the like, but Mark doesn’t care about that. Just as one starts to shout back, something like “This isn’t any of your business, kid,” Mark reacts.  
  
With newfound confidence, Mark flexes his fingers in the way that he and Donghyuck had practiced for hours, pinky and pointer extended, middle and ring towards the wrist, and relishes in the _thwip_ of the web as it rushes towards his enemy. It catches onto the one closest to Mr. Thomas, the one on the right, and this time, he doesn’t detach it; using all the strength in his lean body, Mark _pulls_ , and watches as the man collapses face first into asphalt, now just as unmoving as the man who he had attacked.

For a moment, the world seems to freeze; the other two stare at Mark in what he assumes would be incredulousness should he be able to see their eyes. But just as quickly as he brought the first man down, the other two rush him. Mark’s body keeps moving all on its own as one of them throws out an impressively sized arm for a punch, slipping underneath the fist with agility and lashing out so that his very own fist meets the man’s stomach. At the _oof_ he hears as he makes contact with the tough abdomen- surprisingly, not hurting his knuckles- he keeps up, grabbing the man’s arm where it’s still extended and twisting in an effort to _throw_. 

And it works.

The clothed figure _flies_ , several feet, until his head crashes loudly into a pile of boxes and cans that had been cast carelessly by the alley’s walls. He doesn’t stand back up. 

The third slowed in his rush towards Mark, fist raised threateningly, but he still makes no move to come any closer to Mark. His eyes glance back and forth quickly between his two companions where they both lay collapsed on the ground.

“Oh, man.” Mark says, suddenly feeling so much lighter, wiping his hands on his pants. “Those dudes must have really soft heads.”

There’s finally a voice as the third speaks up. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Mark’s eyes flicker to where Mr. Thomas rests on the ground, breathing a sigh of relief as he watches the man sit up. That’s one less thing to worry about. He rubs at his hands, shockingly not sore from the powerful punch he’d just delivered, but Mark is starting to not be surprised by anything that these abilities have in store for him. He lifts his gaze to meet the eyes of the final man.

“Nothing, really?” Mark shrugs jokingly. _Jokingly._ He has no idea how he’d found it in himself to make jokes. “I think I should be asking _you_ that, man. Attacking an innocent person like that.”

“We told you to mind your business.” 

Mark chances another look over at the crumpled men. “Yeah, _he_ did. He doesn’t have much business to be minding.”

At Mark’s remark, one of the two men- the one he’d hit with a web- groans and moves to sit up onto his knees. Once he does, he grabs at the webs still attached to the front of his dark hoodie confusedly.

“What the hell is this shit, you fucking freak?”

Mark tilts his head, and the final man finally stands up as well. “Dunno. Need me to show you again?”

“Nah, this isn’t worth it.” The one who hadn’t been struck speaks up. “All this for nothin’. Come on, guys.”

They slink off through the shadows of the alley, leaving Mark and Mr. Thomas to their own devices. As soon as their forms leave his line of sight, Mark exhales, and feels the adrenaline that had fueled his retaliation leave his body like the breath. He wants to fall down and crumple into a ball on the ground below.

He’d just beat up a bunch of dudes in an alley. He’d just _saved_ somebody. Mark stares down at his own two hands as if the strength of his gaze would allow him to see _something_ in them, something like a bright light running laps in his veins, but no, there’s nothing. He’d just done that with his own two hands. He feels _good_. 

These powers want to protect others. 

However, the moment is short lived. He glances up at where Mr. Thomas has now managed to push himself to his feet, and anything about the men leaves his mind as he rushes up to check on the man. With a caring hand on his shoulder, Mark asks if he’s okay.

“Yes,” Mr. Thomas’s voice comes out raspy, and Mark makes note of a bruise on his jaw. Quickly, the man turns away so that Mark cannot see it any longer. “Thank you for your help, young man.”

“Of course,” Mark whispers, moving to guide Mr. Thomas back towards the bodega so that Martina could see that he’s okay, but the older man shrugs off Mark’s hand. 

“Don’t you have school to get to? Worrying about little old me, you’ll be late.”

Shit. Mark had completely forgotten about school, but in spite of this, he still shakes his head. “I’m not worried about that right now. Let’s get you back to where it’s safe.” 

It’s now Mr. Thomas’s turn to shake his head, and Mark frowns. “I can get back just fine on my own. You run along to class and get good grades.”

For a moment, Mark considers protesting once more, unwilling to leave the man after he’d been attacked in such a way, but one look into Mr. Thomas’s soft eyes has him deflating once more. 

“Alright.” He says, sparing a cautious glance down at his phone. It’s past eight now. There’s no way he’ll make it to school in time for the bell, and that means he’ll be reported as absent in first period, and they’ll call Johnny to relay the information, and-

“Aha, there it is.” The older man is shaking his head. “You get going now.” Is all he says before he’s vanishing through the mouth of the alley. 

With a huff, Mark psyches himself up to dash to school, the fight long forgotten.

* * *

**[8:12am] hyuck:** **_hey where are u_ **

**[8:17am] hyuck:** **_haha getting nervous where are u_ **

**[8:26am] hyuck:** **_she’s handing back the tests cannot do this w/o u_ **

* * *

“Mark Lee. Tardiness is not your strongpoint,” Retorts his chemistry teacher as he strides through the entrance of his and Donghyuck’s classroom approximately fifteen minutes after the last bell. “And your test grade doesn’t make up for it.” She sighs as she makes her way to her desk, where a solitary test rests on its surface. As Mark creeps across the front of the classroom to make his way to where his desk is next to Donghyuck’s, his neck burns with the embarrassment of having every eye in the room boring into his soul. She slaps the paper down on Mark’s desk once he reaches it, and the bold red _46_ stares back at him like a sore.

“In front of the class, Mrs. Bonavista?” Mark mutters under his breath as the woman in question moves back towards the whiteboard, hoping she’s out of earshot. Donghyuck snickers, but the noise quickly turns into a snort as the teacher whirls back around.

“Yes, in front of the class, Mark.” 

Mark cringes. Any adrenaline or excitement that had remained with him from after the attack is now long gone, crushed into a fine dust beneath Mrs. Bonavista’s black pumps.

They’re working silently on a few problems when Mark finally gets to tell Donghyuck what happened. He listens attentively, every few seconds sparing a glance at Mrs. Bonavista’s desk where she’s clicking away at her laptop’s keyboard. Donghyuck’s eyebrows raise into his hairline when Mark relays the part of the story where he threw one of the men by his arms. 

Donghyuck breathes. “Wow. Just like you to get bit by a spider and start jumping dudes in alleys.”

Mark flicks him, and at his hiss, they both turn fearful eyes on Mrs. Bonavista. She’s none the wiser. Donghyuck kicks him with a pointed shoe, directly in the middle of his shin. 

When they finally turn their respective gazes back on one another, Donghyuck sighs.

“So… is this what you think you’ll do with them? The powers, I mean.”

Mark flinches. He still doesn't like the word _powers_ . They don't make him feel _powerful_. They make him feel different. Capable of something. “Powers” makes him sound like an asshole. He’s not Captain America, or Iron Man. He’s… Mark Lee. Donghyuck would call him Spider-Boy, but he doesn’t like that. 

(He ignores the twinge it leaves in his heart. He hates that it feels a little bit right.)

“I guess so,” Mark whispers, quiet but determined. “It just feels...right.” What else is he gonna do with them?

Donghyuck stares at him for a few more moments, quiet, but after those few beats pass, a smile breaks out across his face.

“Alright.” Donghyuck reaches a hand out across the table wordlessly. Mark stares down at it for a few moments before realizing that Donghyuck probably wants to shake on something. Just before he lets his hand get clasped into Donghyuck’s, however, he raises an eyebrow.

“We’re in this together. You’re not gonna save the city without someone to make sure you’re safe, too.” 

Mark sucks his teeth, but Donghyuck is already continuing.

“Come on, Mark. I don’t have powers, but I’m not gonna let you run around New York beating up pickpockets and bicycle thieves without somebody there to double check that you don’t wind up unconscious in an alley.”

He sighs. He knows that Donghyuck has already decided that he’s going to be Mark’s partner in crime, and there’s no deterring him from that once he’s already made his mind up. It doesn’t sound that bad either, having somebody in his corner.

Mark finally slides his hand into Donghyuck’s.

“Deal.”

In doing this, Mark doesn’t realize that he’s signing a contract with his own blood and tears, his own relationships, and his own being. Mark, as he always has, only thinks of others who need help. 

(He doesn’t think of him, even though that’s all he wants to do.)

(Mark wants to protect Yukhei, and never let him feel scared for Mark’s wellbeing again.)

* * *

**chenle @** zhong_chenle

woah... has everyone heard about that guy from the alley? the one who was like, shooting webs out of his wrist?  
  


**< in reply to @zhong_chenle  
jisung** **@** pjisung

where do you hear about these things

 **< in reply to @pjisung  
****chenle @** zhong_chenle

i have my sources! anywho, i for one am a fan of this spider-like individual and i think i might support him

 **< in reply to @zhong_chenle  
jisung** **@** pjisung

in doing what?

 **< in reply to @pjisung  
****chenle @** zhong_chenle

i don't know! but i'm excited to see it 

**< in reply to @zhong_chenle  
jisung** **@** pjisung

😒

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than i wanted it to be by a wide margin but! it felt incorrect to continue past this point and just have one big second part this really makes me feel better. I've had a hard time writing this and I'm really happy to share it with u now, so please tell me what you think and anticipate the third part because that's where the hurt and the other stuff really start to come in! this chapter super neglected yukhei but... that will not be the case next time. tysm for reading! part three already has 15k done and is close to being finished but will definitely end up with a lot more words than that dw i wont leave you to suffer forever! quarantine did in fact not help me to be more productive and did the opposite. I'm trying really hard to write it hehe
> 
> I'm just gonna say that the third chapter is more... in depth? i guess and a bit more heavy so get ready for that 
> 
> twt @jyangender
> 
> [wip story playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zi9CeuTa5UBwUSfhoMI3n?si=wBgOT_nMSoO0J9IiT4oz9g)


	3. catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in a city, so much bigger than himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never ever thought i would finish this. sfjksdfsk
> 
> I'm actually proud as hell of this story. i don't think it's what anybody expected from a spider-man au, but i still really poured my heart into it. i hope that you like it, and don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it!

When Mark was three years old, he walked in on his eleven-year-old brother crying on their shared bedroom floor. 

Money was tight, as it had always been. Mark barely knew what money _was_ , but in as many memories as he can recall their father, he can recall him complaining about money. That all came to a peak when only three sat at their dinner table on Monday. On Tuesday. On Wednesday. 

Their mother became a lot more quiet, a lot less excitable. That was okay for Mark, though. He got the same food, the same nightly lullabies and hugs, and the same forehead kisses. Things changed a lot less than expected.

When Mark tottled into that room on his shaky three-year-old legs, focused on grabbing his Teddy from the toy chest in the back of the room so that the two of them could go watch _Mickey Mouse Clubhouse_ together (and chanting _teddy_ over and over under his breath,) he spotted his big brother sat next to his bed. Johnny’s head was in his hands, his legs askew beneath the rest of his body, and as Mark stared in silence, he watched those shoulders he so loved to climb on jump over and over again as Johnny hiccuped through tears. 

So he stood quietly, much unlike the three-year-old that the house’s inhabitants had come to know, and he watched his brother.

“Johnny?” Came his so uncharacteristically tranquil voice. The little lisp he’d been working to outgrow dragged out the syllables. Still, it sent the aforementioned into a flinch. 

Johnny lowered his hands from his face ever so slowly, almost as if moving them any faster would have scared Mark. Bloodshot eyes met Mark’s wide ones, dark hair cascading over his forehead like a dark shadow.

“H-Hey, Markie.” Johnny’s voice came from between hiccups. Mark took a cautionary step forward. “You looking for- for Teddy?”

Despite himself, Mark shook his head. “Lookin’ for you.” He earnestly muttered under his breath.

Johnny laughed wetly, his eyes reshaping themselves into crescents with his smile. “Mom needs me?”

Mark finally stepped all the way into the room, pacing slowly towards his older brother until he was right next to him. Johnny wiped a stray tear as it rolled down his cheek, and Mark shook his head again.

“Nope.”

Johnny squinted his eyes in confusion. “So what’s- _oof._ ”

Johnny was instantly cut off as Mark hurled himself into his brother’s lap, wrapping his arms around his torso and squeezing tight until Johnny began to shift to alleviate the pressure of the three-year-old’s death grip. In his young brain, Mark was only thinking of one thing and one thing only, and that was stopping his brother’s tears. 

He squeezed harder with his little arms. “Don’t cry, Johnny.”

Johnny stopped his wriggling and movement when Mark spoke those words into the air, freezing suddenly with his hands suspended next to Mark’s skinny shoulders. Slowly, like Mark was a wild animal, Johnny lowered his hands and wrapped his arms back around his brother. Mark felt his chest rumble at Mark’s very own _oof_ as Johnny clutched him in his own arms.

“Okay, Mark.” Johnny started to rock the two of them back and forth. “I won’t cry anymore.”

And Mark smiled.

(Three years ago, when they were _alone_ , Mark remembers couch surfing with Johnny for a month before he could get them on stable footing. One night with Ten and Kun, another with Jaehyun, a third with Taeil; of course, when they’d bickered over stupid stuff that Mark looks back on and regrets, Mark remembers sleeping on Donghyuck’s floor and ignoring the creaking of the floorboards outside of the bedroom, where he knew Johnny stood for hours on end, unsure of how to speak to the brother he’d known for fifteen years.

In the dead of the night, when he knew that everybody else in the house was in a deep sleep, Mark crept from Donghyuck’s room and into the living room where Johnny laid. He looked at the slopes and curves of his brother’s face, lips where smiles used to come so easily, instead replaced with heavy and dark eye bags and unshaved scruff, so unlike the put-together version of a man that Mark had come to know. Those eye bags carried the lost film internship, the lost grad school dreams, the lost mother.

Mark silently tugged the blanket over his brother’s shoulders and sat by his side for hours, until the sun was peeking through the blinds. It was then and only then that he slid back into Donghyuck’s room, Johnny never the wiser.)

As he stands in a quiet parking lot, a failed petty thief crumpled on the concrete beneath him and a rattled middle schooler clutching his backpack hiding in Mark’s shadow, he thinks that things haven't really changed since then. Perhaps, just _maybe_ , his methods of comfort have changed slightly. 

Mark risks a poke at the pile on the ground with his right foot, jumping a little bit at the groan the man lets out. Maybe he went a little too far overboard. 

It’s almost dark out; the streaks of orange and red in the sky tell him that. The sun has already begun to set below the tallest buildings. Mark sighs a little bit. He doesn’t remember being on patrol for _this_ long. 

In the three weeks since he’d rescued Mr. Thomas from the three men in the alleyway, Mark had fallen into a schedule of sorts. The first week had been characterized by clumsiness and wrought with chaos, naturally; Mark hadn’t known one thing about criminals and taking them down beyond seeing the nightly news reports. When he’d thrown himself into it without a thought, he would have to crawl through his window with bruised fists and hips galore. 

In these past few weeks, he’s gotten about a dozen different “I didn’t know you were home”s from Johnny, to which Mark would always respond with a clever “Damn, you’re really getting old.” 

It’s worked like this: Mark goes to school in the morning, dodges any questions from his friends about why he’s so tired, dashes off at 3:30 as soon as the final bell rings while simultaneously hurling _goodbyes_ in everybody’s respective directions, and then he would spend the next three to four hours before his and Johnny’s usual seven p.m. dinner time wreaking havoc, in the _best_ way possible.

What he means by that is he’s had a couple of incidents. 

The first was with a bicycle thief three blocks from school; Mark had chased him on foot for five minutes, knocked him out, and stood around in the middle of a street swarming with other people before realizing that he didn’t know who the bike belonged to, nor how to get it back to them. 

(He’d webbed it to the nearest building with a note for the nearest cop patrol, wishing under his breath that it’d get returned to the rightful owner. He’d feel really bad if it wasn’t.)

Second: Mark quickly discovered that cops are almost never excited to see him.

He’d started covering his face with a mask that Donghyuck had found in his basement after a purse snatcher tried a little too hard to glance at his face in the darkness. The two of them had sat in his room for hours one Saturday scoping out how to make it work, finally deciding on the red ski mask that Mark determined he wouldn’t question Hyuck too hard about. It had three holes, one for the nose and two for the eyes; Donghyuck had suggested covering the eye holes with a pair of sunglasses.

(Mark has lost three pairs, once he’d discovered that using his webs to swing between buildings to escape those wondrous sirens was much more effective a method of transportation than scrambling down the roads on his feet. He names each pair, actually; Jenny was his favorite, a birthday gift from Ten two years back. Chris had been cheap, the ones he’d worn for that ugly Iron Man costume last Halloween, and finally, Hailey, the ones he pretended he didn’t steal from Taeyong.)

So, three weeks in and he thinks it’s going pretty well. Johnny has no idea, but he’s curious about why Mark has been spending so much more time with Donghyuck than usual.

“Everything’s alright?” Johnny had asked at dinner last Friday, twisting a generous amount of spaghetti onto his fork before shovelling it into his mouth. “I swear you’re at Donghyuck’s like, every day.” He mumbled around his mouthful of food.

“We’re studying really hard for chem these days, you know?” Mark had replied in kind, poking at his own plate. “After that last test…”

Johnny hummed, finally swallowing the spaghetti down. “I’m glad you’re working hard.”

(Mark is infinitely thankful that Johnny never asks Taeyong whether or not Mark is _actually_ over at Donghyuck’s. Or, maybe he does, and Taeyong lies because he doesn’t want to start trouble. Actually, the latter sounds like a much more Taeyong thing to do.)

Their friends are also none the wiser, which Mark actually appreciates more than Johnny’s obliviousness. 

Because, much to Mark’s chagrin, his heroics have made waves online, and _especially_ on Twitter, which Chenle uses religiously.

The younger boy has shoved his phone in the faces of their table’s other inhabitants more times than he can count, showing them headlines reading along the lines of **_Blue-and-Red Clad Man Causes Trouble In Queens Once Again_ **or **_Sick Video: Pickpocketer gets his ass handed to him by the Queens Webslinger_.**

That’s his nickname now, the _Queens Webslinger_. And he absolutely resents it.

He supposes that’s what happens when all he does is web up criminals after beating the snot out of them. And when he stays in Queens. He’s been thinking about branching out a little bit more, but thinking of making it back home during rush hour just sounds like a nightmare to him. 

“Look, look!” Chenle had chanted just that morning, turning all of their attention to his direction. Mark had nearly fallen asleep on his incomplete English homework when Chenle snapped him back into reality. 

“Another Webslinger video?” Jaemin had poked fun at Chenle with a mouthful of sandwich, Donghyuck giggling quietly at his side. 

“Yep,” Chenle squinted at Jaemin in a very dramatic form of a warning. Mark couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Chenle this excited about anything. Maybe it was the whole Kingdom Hearts phase he’d gone through back in middle school. With a quickness, Chenle had hurled his phone to the center of the table. There he was, on the screen, duking it out with _that_ week’s carjacker. Mark cringed as he watched himself web the man’s hand to the car in question.

“Hm.” Renjun had grunted, halfway through a Rice Krispies treat. “This guy is everywhere.”

Mark spared a quick glance at Donghyuck, who miraculously had shot his head up at the same time. They share a _look_. 

“I think he’s pretty cool.”

Mark considers this to be his _third_ … havoc wreaked. 

Yukhei is a fan of the Queens Webslinger.

Mark has tried his absolute hardest to keep Yukhei off of the forefront of his mind, away from all of his other thoughts as he duels in the streets of Queens. Mark doesn’t want to think about the way that it’s getting harder to look at him, getting harder to forget about that look in his eyes as they’d ridden the subway home after Yangyang’s party. Mark is convinced that if he allows himself to stew in that memory for more than a few minutes, he’d be lost there forever, lost in those eyes, lost in that frown.

They haven’t spoken all that much outside of school _since_ that party. Mark had been busy, all things considered, but he’d admittedly… been avoiding Yukhei.

Their study hall meetings had been slashed in half, Mark hurling excuses like having to help the elderly precalculus teacher with some paper organization or being needed in the greenhouse despite hating it in there, and everybody knowing that he hates it in there. Yukhei, ever himself, would always laugh it off and tell him that he’d be there for Mark whenever he was done. 

Mark hates lying to him.

Not just about where he is, or what he’s doing, but about being the Queens Webslinger especially.

Donghyuck had given him a staunch reminder this past weekend, laid out on his bedroom floor after Mark had gotten his ass handed to him by a pickpocket with a little more flexibility than he’d been expecting. It was hours before he was expected to meet Johnny at home, so they’d burned the time away by playing a few quick play matches in Overwatch while Mark iced his wounds.

“You can’t tell him, no matter how hard it gets.”

Mark had huffed heavily, pushing the laptop away from him as their team was defeated yet again. He wasn’t feeling Wrecking Ball _at all_. He tugs his hoodie off from over his head- the one he would always wear on his rounds, the dark blue one without any recognizable markings on it. Mark listened to Donghyuck’s audible hiss as he eyed the bruises on his ribs.

“Shit,” Mark felt a cold hand on his chest, and smacked it away. “Didn’t know pickpockets could fight like that.”

“Neither did I.” Mark pouted, throwing the hoodie off into the corner somewhere. He rubbed gingerly at the purple colors.

“Want me to get some Neosporin? I’m sure Taeyong has some in his bathroom.” 

Mark shook his head, still eyeing the injuries. Ever since the bite, his cuts and bruises had been healing at a much quicker rate. He didn’t know if Neosporin would do anything to help when they’d probably be gone by the time Mark waltzed back into his apartment for dinner. 

Donghyuck had hummed, sitting back and officially moving his cold palms away from Mark’s exposed skin. “But remember what I said.”

“Yes, Donghyuck dear. I’ll remember what you said.”

And Mark _has_ remembered. It’s just been hard. Damn near impossible, when Yukhei looks at him with those big eyes and that big smile and asks if he’s free after school to grab a coffee, just like they always do.

(Mark pretends like he doesn’t see the way that smile falls, even if just by a microscopic bit, every time Mark turns him down.)

Because, despite it all, Mark believes that he’s made a commitment to this city. To _Taeil_ , who had told him all those nights ago in a bustling restaurant that he was capable of something better. Of something big.

Now, as he stands in that parking lot, those words ring true in his skull.

“Hey, you're alright?” Mark asks, finally leaving Mister Failure to stew in his own misery below. The kid flinches when Mark whirls around to face him. 

“Y-Yeah.” He stutters, knobbly knees shaking as he stares up at Mark’s lenses. He seems just as scared of Mark as he was of the dude who’d tried his hardest to steal lunch money from a middle schooler, and Mark can’t particularly blame him, not when he’s wearing a red ski mask and sunglasses underneath a hoodie. 

Mark claps his hands together. Distantly, he feels a small tingle in his body, and he spirals back around to see the man on the ground trying to crawl away from him. He webs his foot to the ground, chuckling a bit at the frustrated whine he lets out. “Alright, that’s good. And that-” Mark hears the telltale sirens of approaching cops from the west. “-is my sign to get out of here.”

“Hey, uh. What's your name? Everyone calls you the Queens Webslinger, but...”

Mark stops in his tracks, but he doesn't turn back around. He hears the sirens as they inch closer and closer, and he's not too keen on sticking around to see what the cops would like to say to him. Instead, he raises up a nonchalant hand.

“I wear the mask for a reason, ya know?” Aforementioned mask is making him sweat a little bit, especially underneath the sunglasses and hoodie that's _actually_ probably a bit too large on him. Just as those red and blue lights make their way into his line of vision, Mark is zipping up towards the rooftops, running on brick walls, out of sight, out of mind.

* * *

**Mysterious Red-and-Blue Clad Vigilante Traipsing About Queens?**

_Article by H. Kim_

_It's one thing after the other, isn't it? Bank robberies and arson galore! Now, this city has a new criminal to add to its repertoire._

_Last night, a runner witnessed a strange masked figure beat the snot out of somebody in an alley, wearing nothing but red and blue. When this runner shouted after them, this figure flew off into the night sky. Flew. And he left a man in the alley for the authorities to clean up, leaving nothing behind at the scene except what appears to be a strength-enhanced form of silly string._

_This isn't the first such instance. Last week, something similar occurred a few blocks away, and the day before that as well. Queens has a new friend, it seems, one that has been welcomed with open arms by some and anger by others. To some, he’s cleaning up the crime-ridden streets. To others, he’s just making more of a problem._

_The latter would be absolutely correct._

_Mister America- this so-called “Queens Webslinger” that so many have decided to call him thinks that slapping around a few bicycle thieves and pickpockets is going to usher in world peace? Beating up a carjacker is going to cure all the city's ills? I’m sorry to break it to you, but it won't. Leave the hard work to this city’s real heroes, our saviors in blue…_

Mark feels his eye twitch.

“Not the reception I was expecting,” Donghyuck mutters under his breath. It wasn't what Mark was expecting either. 

“He’s completely ignoring the fact that I was _saving_ people,” Mark sighs, throwing the newspaper to the ground. “And Mister America? What the fuck?”

Donghyuck snickers. “Told you the red and blue was dumb.”

Mark raises his head in indignance. “ _You’re_ the one who gave me the red mask!”

“You chose it! There was a blue one too.”

“The blue-” Mark cuts himself off. There’s no use bickering about it now. The decision _had_ been made by him, and an all blue outfit probably would’ve warranted an even dumber name from H. Kim, probably like… Water Boy, or something. In comparison to Mister America, in fact, Queens Webslinger sounds like a dream.

They both plop down onto Donghyuck’s carpet with a huff. 

It’s been a long few weeks, but Mark definitely feels as if he’s doing good work, piece by piece, person saved by person saved. He thinks of the kind smiles he receives as thanks, the firm handshakes from corner store owners or high school students who would have assuredly lost some of their money if it wasn’t for him. He thinks of the happy children who see him swing through streets or the teenagers with their phones out watching him go. 

The… _Queens Webslinger_ has made its way even more into their school lives. He hears whispers about it as he combs his locker for textbooks and for the homework he swears he did (but definitely didn’t), as they sit at the lunch table and Chenle relays Mark’s entire week back to himself. His and Donghyuck’s English teacher had even offhandedly mentioned him once, though it was not the praise that the students so often bestowed upon him; with a sniff and an upturned nose, he’d called the Queens Webslinger a good-for-nothing vigilante with a pipe dream.

And maybe it _is_ a pipe dream, spurred by a three minute conversation with his brother’s friend in his brother’s other friend’s restaurant, but Mark doesn’t find himself caring. There’s no one individual person that can absolve the world of all the terrible things that seethe within, but Mark feels- that by doing the best he can, little by little, piece by piece, he’s making a difference for the people that need him to. The people like Mr. Thomas, who would have been glossed over by those very same cops that swear they’re here to serve and protect.

Mark clenches a fist. He has to keep doing what’s right, no matter what.

No matter what.

“If the Queens Webslinger is a no go…”

Donghyuck’s voice finally rises up from the silence, breaking Mark out of his reverie. He twists to where his friend lays on the floor beside him, encouraging him to continue.

“And you hate being Spider-Boy, too… what to call you, o Mark Lee in Red and Blue.”

Mark huffs. He’s actually been thinking hard about it, nights in his apartment staring up at the ceiling. What does he want to be remembered as, without being remembered as Mark Lee? 

Better now than later.

“I’m thinking… Spider-Man.”

“What?” Donghyuck guffaws. “Spider-Man? You aren't anywhere near a man. And that’s the _same_ thing as Spider-Boy. Admit it, I’m a genius.”

“Shut up!” Mark hurls a pillow at the younger while Donghyuck cackles, falling to the floor. “I think it's cool.”

“Cool if you were in the third grade.” Donghyuck changes his voice in a strange imitation of Mark’s, scrunching up his face. “Hello, Yukhei, I’m Spider-Man. I'd like to take you out for dinner.” 

“Why are we talking about Yukhei!” Mark shouts and flushes a deep red, dive-bombing into Donghyuck where he’s still crumpled into a heap on the floor. Donghyuck shouts when they make contact. Distantly, Mark can hear Taeyong shout for them to shut up. “He’s my friend.”

“We’re talking about Yukhei ‘cause if I have to hear you whine about how his smile makes flowers grow one more time, I think I’m going to take your life into my own hands,” Donghyuck elbows Mark in the stomach, and the older rolls off of him, huffing. “Friends don’t do that. If I said that about you, I think you would spit on me.”

“I do not-”

“I’ll call Jaemin right now!” Donghyuck says, and he reaches past Mark to where his phone was discarded on the floor to menacingly wave it around in the air for added effect. Mark just glares at him, and Donghyuck gets that normal smug look on his face. Amidst all the chaos of the last few weeks, having Donghyuck continue on as if nothing has changed is a grounding force. Mark feels himself sigh a little bit.

Donghyuck finally drops the phone and opts to push himself to his feet instead, pushing off of Mark’s stomach for leverage. He chuckles at Mark’s ‘oof.’

“Can I be serious for a second?”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through another content silence, and Mark turns his eyes onto the younger to where he stands. He looks so much smaller, suddenly, shoulders slumped and face downcast. Any remnants of the joking ambience that had kept his room for the last few minutes fades as Mark pushes himself up using his elbows.

“You know, I think I might finally do it.” Donghyuck sounds a bit exasperated, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. “There’s just… so much happening, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be up for it again.”

Mark looks on in understanding. “Renjun?”

“Mm.” The younger of the two starts absentmindedly playing with the sleeves on his sweater, subconsciously making an attempt to distract himself. Donghyuck is all for teasing others, but when it’s just him and Mark in the secrecy of Donghyuck’s lair, suddenly, that joking attitude no longer has the capability to spend every second in the limelight. Donghyuck has so much energy that he damn near bounces off the walls, so cheery and bright that sometimes, Mark feels as if he has to sap away some of Donghyuck’s spirit just to get through the day. He’s the first one to make you smile when you’re nervous with a skillfully executed joke, and the first one to help you when you need it; Mark knows that Donghyuck has a hard time saying it, but he loves each and every one of his friends, and he makes sure to show it in every possible way.

Mark can’t exactly pinpoint when Renjun became different from the rest of them.

Maybe it was Renjun’s calm determination to always hold the lot of them together, no matter how tired it made him. Or that secret little giggle he only saves for when Donghyuck makes a joke, a giggle he swears he doesn’t have no matter how many times Jeno has caught it on video. But Mark can never miss the way his two friends glance at each other when they think nobody else is looking, when they think it’s just the two of them in the middle of a great big world and nothing else.

(No matter how much he denies it, Mark knows how that feels.)

“Well.” Donghyuck cuts Mark’s train of thought off once more, clapping his hands together. “How does pre-patrol breakfast sound?”

* * *

There’s a loud bang from the kitchen as Mark and Donghyuck chase each other down the stairs in a very not seventeen and eighteen-year-old fashion. They’re greeted with Taeyong’s now pink head of hair.

“Good morning, Mark.” Taeyong sounds as friendly as ever, waving one of his hands. He’s wearing an apron that, quite frankly, is horrific: firstly, it's hot pink, and secondly, it's covered in polka dots of varying colors, some huge and some no larger than a centimeter. In his other hand is a pan, which must have been the source of the loud noise only moments before he and Donghyuck came stumbling down the stairs. There's a case of eggs on the counter as well as a jug of orange juice and a package of bacon sitting next to it, waiting to be cooked.

This instantly causes Donghyuck to perk up. He skips the rest of the way into the kitchen before plopping down in one of the chairs there with Mark following closely behind. It's been awhile since he’s stayed over at Donghyuck’s- recently, the younger has taken to crashing on the floor of his and Johnny’s apartment instead- and he’d forgotten Taeyong’s sleepover tradition.

“Where’s mom and dad?” Donghyuck says, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“They went to see some friends in Atlantic City, remember?” 

Donghyuck hums, nonchalantly glancing towards the counter. “You cookin’ breakfast?”

“Only for the polite children,” Taeyong says cutely, cranking up the fire on the stove. “That doesn’t include Lee Donghyuck.” 

“Hey!” Donghyuck starts, but moves as Taeyong shoves him away by his head. 

Twenty minutes later, when Taeyong has laid out all the food on the Lee’s small kitchen table, Mark lets himself go ham. He piles as much food as he can onto the plate without it looking suspicious or perhaps greedy, eager to indulge himself with the food. While Johnny almost always makes dinner, his home cooked breakfasts and lunches were dwindling by the week. As Mark takes a bite, he thinks of home.  
  
“Geez, Mark. I don't think I've ever seen you eat this much,” Taeyong observes carefully, taking a slow bite of his own food. Mark and Donghyuck share a quick glance, exchanging information with nothing more than that, and with one look at the two of them Taeyong’s eyebrow rises so high in questioning that Mark swears it's going to reach his hairline. “What are the two of you hiding?”

“Nothin’.” Donghyuck’s voice is muffled around his mouth full of toast. Taeyong scowls at him.

“I’m a growing boy.” Mark opts for, patrol a stinging reminder. He’d probably burn off ninety percent of the calories he’s ingesting by seven p.m. Johnny’d said something about Chinese takeout for dinner. He already feels his stomach rumble as he imagines the greasy food.

They all eat in silence for several more minutes, Mark shoving the food into his mouth like he’d never eat again. At Taeyong’s friendly glance that definitely says _slow the hell down_ , Mark offers a sheepish smirk in response. 

“You know,” Taeyong starts, taking one more bite of the food on his plate before pushing it away from him further up the table. “I’ve gotten a phone call from Johnny or two these past few weeks.”

Donghyuck freezes with his fork centimeters from his gaping mouth. Mark doesn’t fare much better, the teeth of the fork already between his closed lips.

All things considered, no, they haven’t been very subtle. Mark tells Donghyuck where he’s heading and when he’s heading there, and sometimes, when the going gets tough, he’ll crawl through Donghyuck’s window into his bedroom and crash on his bed until it’s time to drag himself back to his apartment. But, Mark supposes, always saying that he’s at the Lee household when he’s really not there should have backfired on him eventually. 

“Aha, yeah. About that.” Mark rubs at the back of his neck. How’s he supposed to word this?

Taeyong just sighs.

“Look, whatever. I’m not a… parent.” Taeyong seems to consider calling Johnny one, too. Mark flinches, and Taeyong’s eyebrows furrow apologetically. “And I remember what it was like to be your age. Whatever the two of you are up to, as long as you _promise_ me it’s not dangerous, is not my business.”

Well, no, Mark can’t promise Taeyong what he’s doing isn’t dangerous. It most certainly is. But he’s not gonna say that when he can keep using Taeyong to keep Johnny off of his ass for a little while longer.

“I promise.” Mark says with a firm nod. Donghyuck parrots him.

Taeyong stares at them for a few moments longer, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them. Mark applauds both himself and Donghyuck for being able to hold the man’s scrutinizing gaze as Taeyong finally nods.

“Okay.”

* * *

The puzzle pieces all conveniently fall together.

It’s a normal patrol; as normal as they could get, really. Ever since he’d started up, Mark had come to a schedule of sorts, perching himself on rooftops and fire escapes waiting for the inevitable trouble that would plague the streets during his post-school hours. He would shoot a text off to Donghyuck telling him of his current location as a safeguard, and do the same to Johnny as well, naturally with much less detail.

(Today, it had been “ _I might be home a bit late.”_ Johnny had responded five minutes later with a quiet _“okay.”_ After a few more minutes, his brother had reappeared with yet another message, this time reading _“don’t miss spaghetti tonight lol”_

Mark desperately did not want to miss spaghetti.)

So, as he does on those normal patrol days, Mark sits up on the ledge of a rooftop several stories above the ground, allowing his legs to dangle over the edge. It’s times like this that Mark really starts to think about just how much has changed in his life in the month since the party, since the spider bite, since Mr. Thomas. The world had been moving so quickly ever since that day, and as a result, Mark never really sat back and _considered_. He’d let his heart make all of his decisions instead of his brain.

He scratches at his nose beneath the mask. 

Mark glances at the world down below him, the city moving beneath his feet, a world in which he has felt small for his entire life. 

Somehow, in spite of everything, Mark still doesn’t feel big.

In the tips of his fingers, Mark feels a small tingle, almost unnoticeable. He risks a quick glimpse down at the ground that he had stared so aimlessly at moments ago; where it was empty before, there’s now two shadowy figures standing.

He instantly perks up, that familiar feeling of electricity dancing crazily through his veins. 

Figure number one has a gun. He’s pointing it at the second, who’s backed up against the closest building, hands up.

Any semblance of relaxation leaves Mark with a haste. He pulls his legs up and perches on his toes, hands primed by his sides, wrists tickling with that familiar feeling of webs. 

_What are you going to do, Mark? Bicycle thieves don’t have guns. Neither do pickpockets. Usually. Moral of the story is, Mark, you’ve never dealt with this before. You’ve never handled a gun. What if you get shot, or worse, get that guy shot? What’ll you say when you_ do _wind up missing spaghetti? What if-_

Mark leaps from his rooftop. 

When he lands, a number of things happen:

The armed man whirls around, and thus, the gun is no longer pointed at the one up against the wall. That’s one victory. 

But now, the gun is pointed at _Mark_.

He throws his hands up, standing at full attention.

“Hey, hey. Let’s not get too hasty,” He whines, his mouth running on a motor separate from that of his brain. He’ll definitely be scolding himself in his bed later. If he makes it there. It’s also probably best for him to not tell Donghyuck about this, either. “We should all calm down. I know a really good coffee shop two blocks away from here, maybe you can sit-”

“Who the hell are you?” Mark jumps as the man’s gruff voice finally greets his ears, grating in the near silence of the alleyway. Mark can only hear his breathing, getting harder and harder in his mask.

“You’re… you’re that Queens Webslinger.”

The man behind the armed individual speaks up, flinching as the gun turns to face him again.

Mark visibly cringes under the mask, but he supposes that the man can’t see him. So, with his right hand, still raised in defense, he waves him off. 

“No, siree,” Mark says, loud and clear. While the two men are distracted, Mark hastily fires a web at the man’s hand where he holds the gun. The firearm flies the few feet it needs to before it hits the wall, suspended by the webbing. The man stares down at his now empty hand. That was most certainly easier than expected. “Never that.”

“Who are you, then?”

Now feeling lighter than a cloud, Mark easily webs up the unmoving and now unarmed man, watching him collapse to the concrete below with a surprised _oof_. As the webbed man starts to groan, Mark quickly webs his mouth, making sure to leave space for his nostrils to take in air.

As his webs _thwip_ to the nearest rooftop, his body awaiting liftoff, Mark nearly vibrates in excitement. It’s now or never.

“I’m Spider-Man,” He sounds giddy, like a kid that’s gotten a chance to brag about something that they probably shouldn't even have bragging rights to. He hears Donghyuck’s sneer in the back of his head, jokingly calling the title childish. He shrugs it off just as quickly. Donghyuck’ll get used to it. Eventually. With everybody else.

As his webs finally carry him away into the setting sun, that child-like thrill itching in his veins doesn’t leave him. It doesn’t leave him as he perches on top of his building, eyes combing the city lights. It doesn’t leave him as he lays beneath his comforter that night.

 _He’s Spider-Man_ , and the world now knows it.

* * *

**chenle** @spyderman

hi ^-^ i’m chenle and this is my new account 

(´ ∀ ` *) i’m here to support spider-man! 

<in reply to @spyderman  
**jisung** @pjisung 

why did you tell me to follow you 

<in reply to @pjisung  
**chenle** @spyderman

you’re here to support me ＼(￣▽￣)／

<in reply to @spyderman  
**jisung** @pjisung

but i don't care about spider-man 

<in reply to @pjisung  
**chenle** @spyderman 

shut up jisung just mute me

* * *

The two worlds he had strived so hard to keep separate collided on a Thursday a week later.

After stumbling through a timed writing in his English class and narrowly passing a pop quiz in precalculus, Mark can say with full certainty that being Spider-Man and being a high school senior don’t mix. He’d been trying his hardest to keep his grades up, to keep Johnny off of his back, but the dreadful conversation had finally come over dinner the previous night.

“Do we need to get a tutor?” Johnny had frowned at his brother, another month’s grades uploaded to the school’s online portal. “I’m sure Taeyong could help you, if you really needed it. This stuff is important, Mark.”

“I know it is,” Mark sighed as he shoveled a forkful of fettucini into his mouth. Johnny’d made alfredo, easily one of his top ten favorite meals, but the pasta tasted like dirt on his tongue. Patrol had been hell, ending in another bruised rib, and on top of it all he’d forgotten about his grades. His chemistry grade, slipping dangerously close to an F. The precalculus one, not doing much better. Being a web-slinging vigilante hadn’t given him a lot of time to _study_ , so could it really be blamed on him?

(Distantly, he heard Renjun’s voice like an angel perched on his shoulder. _Yes, Mark. It’s your fault_.)

His brother had hummed, his gaze lingering on Mark’s face for a moment too long.

“Alright, Mark. If your grade drops to a seventy-two, we’ll be right back here.”

Mark’s head shot up, indignance rearing its ugly head, but when he met his brother’s disappointed eyes, he felt himself sink back down into the seat. “Reasonable.”

Johnny nodded. “Glad that’s done.”

It’s not done. At all. Because Mark’s chemistry grade is a seventy-three now after a botched attempt to take a chapter quiz without reading it. Even _Donghyuck_ had gotten a B. Mark had stared at his sixty-eight in quiet acceptance.

Now, Mark sits at the lunch table with his head on top of his folded arms, his breath slow, the chatter of the lunchroom nothing more than white noise as he attempts to slide into a comfortable nap. That moment is short-lived, however, as Chenle approaches the table with a shout, Jisung in tow. 

“Guys, guys, guys, look!”

From where he sits next to Jaemin, Jeno lifts up his head, as startled by Chenle’s shout as the rest of them. All things considered, the lot of them should be used to it by now; however, this lunch period had been a lot more quiet than what’s typical of their friend group. Midterms loom over them like storm-filled clouds, and its effects on each and every one of them is visible.

Much like the others, however, Jeno knows what the topic of Chenle’s outburst is. “Blue-and-red guy beat up somebody else?”

“His name is _Spider-Man_ ,” Chenle retorts, plopping down next to Renjun and pinching his shoulder even though he hadn’t even said anything yet. The older quickly slaps the offending fingers away. 

“Better than the _Queens Webslinger,_ at least,” Renjun sneers playfully, him and Jeno devolving into a mess of laughter. 

Chenle pouts. He’s taking the whole _fan_ thing quite far, Mark thinks. It’s still crazy to think that he has _fans_ , that he’s the topic of conversation between a billion people in the city. He shivers. 

“I think he’s cool,” Chenle whines, tossing his phone down onto the surface without a single care for its condition. All of them sit up in their chairs to glance at the screen in spite of their playful mocking of Chenle, watching yet another blurry YouTube video showcasing the now infamous Spider-Man swinging through the streets. “Really cool.”

Yukhei, uncharacteristically quiet as he focuses on studying his European History textbook, finally glances up as well.

Mark, in fact, could watch Yukhei study for hours on end. The way he fixates on the work in front of him, manages to flick off the switch in his head that usually has him bouncing from wall to wall. When Yukhei is serious about something, there’s no ifs ands or buts; he’s _serious_ , and this time, he’s trying to secure a grade above ninety on his Euro midterm. His eyebrows are still a bit tight when he looks up, an aftereffect of staring so intensely at the text below. He doesn’t look up at the phone like everybody else- Jaemin’s currently watching with a gaping mouth- but instead, he meets Mark’s eye.

“You wanna go over the French Revolution with me?” 

Mark flinches so hard that Jisung next to him jumps too. Yukhei’s rumbling voice snaps him out of the reverie he’d been stuck in watching Yukhei study, forcing him back into reality. Mark stares at Yukhei for a few seconds, because he _definitely_ didn’t hear what he just said, but he doesn’t want to make it seem as if he wasn’t listening. He’s doubtlessly taking far too long to respond.

“Huh?” He mumbles, blinking quickly once or twice. Donghyuck snickers out of his periphery, and Mark opts to believe that he’s not laughing at him.

Yukhei doesn’t seem to care, though. Never does. Instead, he releases a soft chuckle, kind eyes curving up with the sound. “Asked if you wanna help me study for my Euro midterm.”

“Oh!” Mark tilts his head up as he speaks. “Now?”

Yukhei considers this for a second, tapping his pointer finger on his chin a couple of times and looking up at the ceiling for added effect. Mark lets his eyes trace the motion, enraptured by such a simple movement. When Yukhei’s eyes suddenly snap back down to meet his, he recoils once more.

“You can come over after school, if you want. It’s been a while.” 

Mark’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Uh,” Come on, Mark. How do you get out of this? You definitely can’t go over to Yukhei’s house. You can’t go sit on his bed. You’ll look into his eyes for two seconds and then you’ll spill your guts to him, and you _know_ it. Come up with something. Come up with something. “I can’t. Got a really big, uh, chem thing to work on.”

Donghyuck chirps up from across the table. “What chem thing?”

Mark very subtly kicks him in the shin beneath the table. At his wince, Mark giggles sheepishly. “Look at Donghyuck, so irresponsible. We got this assignment like, last week. Which sucks, cause the midterm is gonna suck ass too. So, sorry. I can’t.”

“Oh,” Yukhei says. His smile doesn’t fall, but Mark can still see the way the corners of his lips twitch a little bit. “That’s okay.”

(It’s not. Mark carries the guilt of telling Yukhei ‘no’ for the rest of the school day, on his walk out of the front doors, and as he tugs on his Spider-garb. 

He doesn’t forget the way Yukhei’s eyes lost their distinctive glow as soon as Mark had uttered those words.)

* * *

An hour and a half into that day’s patrol, Mark feels his phone buzzing in the pocket of his sweatpants. When he pulls it out, Johnny’s name flashing across the screen, Mark feels a twinge of worry. It’d been an easy day so far, mostly twiddled thumbs and kicking his legs over the tops of buildings. He’s doing the latter presently, in fact, watching the city buzz on beyond him.

“Hello?” He says. Johnny very rarely calls him at all, instead an avid texter; in fact, Mark can't remember their last phone call. Much less while he was on patrol. Mark almost squawks when a car honks on the street below him.

“Hey,” Johnny starts. He sounds a bit breathless. “Where are you?”

Mark isn't a fan of this line of questioning. Nor is he a fan of Johnny’s increasing suspicion. The usual excuse comes easy to his tongue. “Heading to Donghyuck’s.”

Mark can hear Johnny laugh, but it doesn't sound _amused_. He sounds exasperated, and Mark feels his eyebrow slowly creeping up his forehead.

“Can you come home?”

That nervous energy makes itself known as it twists in his stomach. Johnny’s tone is tense. Mark doesn't like when he’s tense and he can _feel_ it, because Johnny’s an expert at keeping things from Mark, and if he’s so high strung that Mark can get a taste of it too, Mark knows he doesn't want to get involved. 

“Why?” He questions, drawing the word out slowly. Johnny huffs. 

“Aunt Mimi called.”

Mark’s entire body freezes; his legs from where they were swinging over the side of the building on which he sits, the worried nibbling of his lip, the twitching of his muscles that had become characteristic of him in the weeks since his transformation. He becomes statuesque. 

Aunt Mimi. It's a joke to even call her their _aunt_ , after everything she’d put them through. Her staunch refusal to assist her late sister’s children, leaving the then twenty-three year old and sixteen year old pair to fend for themselves from her fancy penthouse in the heart of Seoul, South Korea. She hadn't sent one thing their way besides harsh words and criticisms, despite how Johnny's strength in those times had kept them alive. As their only living relative, she’d abandoned them, just as she’d abandoned her sister in the States. They’d never had the chance to even taste her lavish lifestyle. 

_“Poor boys,”_ She said at the funeral, in those desperate moments that Mark still couldn't put behind him, offering them nothing else. Mark still remembers the way Johnny had bowed respectfully at her, eyes shadowed, form stiff. Mark feels his grip on the phone tighten.

“And you picked up?” Mark mutters in disbelief. After the way she had disrespected them, their _family_ , Mark had expected her to never contact them again.

“I did.” Mark shakes his head, even though Johnny can't see him. “Just… come home, will you?”

“No.”

Mark’s voice comes out forceful and angry. How can Johnny expect him to _speak_ to her? After everything that's happened? How can he? If this is what adulthood entails, he wants no part of it. 

“Come on, Mark,” Johnny sighs into the receiver. “You’re eighteen years old.”

“Exactly.” Mark snaps with more fire than he really wants to. “So I’m gonna go to Hyuck’s. See you tomorrow.”

“Mark-” Johnny starts, but Mark is pulling the phone away from his ear and pressing the end call button before he can squeeze another word out. The fury burns low in his gut as he swings off, at Aunt Mimi, at Johnny, and at everything else.

* * *

Mark is out after dark. He’s never out after dark.

He had set out with no destination in mind, swinging between buildings and running up their walls for miles before he finally came to a stop. His body took him where it wanted to go.

He feels _bad_ , bad for turning down Yukhei for the thirtieth time, bad for fighting with Johnny on the phone. Fighting with Johnny always makes the world feel like it’s ending, because all it does is remind Mark just how hard everything is. How hard it is for him, being a teenager and feeling as if nothing in the world could ever possibly make sense. How hard it has to be for _Johnny_ , who’d never planned on being anybody’s parent at twenty-six years old, much less the little brother he used to take roller skating and then out for pizza afterward. It reminds Mark just how much of a… burden he is.

Johnny’s told him to not call himself that in the past. When he was fourteen, brooding and confused at all hours of the day. But now, it’s impossible for him to not feel that way, when he’s the reason Johnny had to give up his dreams, when he’s the reason Johnny has to work the way he does. And now… now that he’s decided he has to carry this whole city in his two eighteen-year old hands, Mark supposes he’s become about three-hundred times more burdening than he was before. 

He misses the simple days.

Mark lets his feet cross in front of one another over and over again, playing a game of tightrope on the building’s ledge. It’s too quiet, quiet to the point where Mark feels uneasy. As he puts his left foot forward for the tenth time, however, Mark lets it rest too close to the edge, and feels himself lose balance and teeter over. 

He now stands horizontal to the ground, hoodstrings dangling down in front of his face. 

“Huh.” He remarks. “Forgot I could do that.”

Yet the moment is short-lived. That familiar tickle does a dance in the tips of his fingers, that which Donghyuck has taken to calling his “spidey-sense,” a name he both resents and loves simultaneously. He whirls his head to the side where he feels the most tingling, his right, and though his view of the world is on a tilted axis, Mark easily spots where his sense of danger was triggered. 

Mark runs the usual profile in his head: two figures, one taller than the other by a long shot, but the shorter one is a bit more bulky. The tall one has their back to Mark, arms raised in defense. With a quick flicker of his eyes, Mark can make out the knife in the other’s hand. A robbery.

It appears as if the perpetrator hasn’t noticed Mark yet. The dark blue and red hues of his attire most likely contributed to that, and Mark internally pumps a fist. It makes espionage a lot easier.

“Turn around,” Comes the gruff voice of the shorter individual. He jabs his knife out threateningly, and the other nods quickly, dark locks jumping with the movement as he whirls around.

And Mark’s blood turns to ice.

That sweatshirt looks far too familiar for comfort. It’s damn near mustard yellow, bright in the darkness of the evening, embroidered with a large drawing of Mickey Mouse in the center of the chest. That sweatshirt looks almost _exactly_ like the one he’d bought on an outing with his friends in January, the one he’d bought for-

“ _Yukhei._ ” He breathes, and his fearful eyes trail upwards to the person’s face. 

Mark’s worst fears are confirmed.

Yukhei’s eyes are wrenched shut, his face wrinkled with how hard he must be scrunching them together. Those big hands, the one Mark has grasped onto so many times, the ones that have patted Mark’s head and played in his hair and tickled under his chin- the same hands that have pulled him to his feet so many times when he was unable to do it himself, never questioning- are held up in the air, shaking so hard that Mark can see them do so.

This is where Mark’s body had carried him. 

That ice quickly morphs into something else, something more angry and hot than he’s ever felt before. It feels as if someone’s injected lava directly into his veins, his body increasing with the outrageously hot temperature.

Mark thinks that he moves quicker than he ever has in his life. He sees red.

When he blinks his eyes, an unknown amount of time later, the knife has skidded off to some deep shadow of the alley, and its owner lies in a heap at his feet. 

Mark can feel himself breathing, every time he takes in air and expels it. He can feel his chest expand, and above all else, he can hear his heart pounding loudly in his ears. _Badum. Badum. Badum._

It feels like the day he’d discovered his powers all over again.

In all their years together, Yukhei had always been the one to save Mark; be it from falls off of slippery monkey bars or middle school bullies or a particularly tough bottle of soda. But now, as Mark observes the offending man unmoving at his feet, Mark feels a new kind of strength tickle at his fingertips and dance its way up his arms to where his heart rests, beating it with a fresh sort of vigor.

Just as quickly as it had come, however, Mark feels that fury leak out of him like the steady drip of an icicle when it begins to warm. At the sight of the man on the ground, of Yukhei _no longer in danger_ , Mark relaxes.

And he whirls around.

Yukhei hands are still raised, but much lower now. His big eyes are wide in his shock, but he’s no longer shaking. He’s no longer afraid. Mark exhales.

“You're Spider-Man.” Yukhei exhales loudly through his nose, his eyes wide in his shocked state. One second, someone had been trying to steal his wallet, and the next, Spider-Man was swinging from the skies to save him from danger. “Damn.”

Hearing Yukhei’s voice makes something twist in his stomach. _He’s okay now_ , he reassures himself. _Yukhei is safe._ Finally, Mark lets the dark clouds drift from his conscience, letting himself get lost in the expanses of Yukhei’s gaze. Without fail, Yukhei always comforted him when he was scared. It feels as though Mark had returned one of three thousand favors. 

“Y-” Mark feels his voice crack, and coughs to cover the sound up. He thinks for a few seconds. In a deep, clearly fake voice, Mark continues, thankful that Yukhei can’t see his red face beneath his mask. “Yes… I am.” Killed it. 

“I thought you'd be taller,” Yukhei says, his mouth gaping, before he clearly thinks better of it and reaches a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, embarrassed. Mark’s blush deepens. “Oh! Um. I mean… thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

“It's what I do.” Mark’s gruff voice is making his throat feel itchy. He probably can't keep it up much longer. 

Oh, how delighted Yukhei would be if he knew that it was his very own best friend hiding behind a red-and-blue mask, fighting crime in New York City at unholy hours of the night at the cost of their own friendship. Mark is starting to lose count of the amount of times he’s told Yukhei _sorry, I can’t come_ or _I’m busy_ in the past month, not even counting the outright lies he had told. He hated watching Yukhei’s face fall, though it never lasted for long; seconds later, that bright grin would replaster itself to his face, as if nothing had ever snatched it away. Mark is starting to hate himself for it, but he has a _job_ now-

“I'm Yukhei,” the aforementioned blurts, still visibly frazzled. “Yukhei Wong. High school senior. Wannabe model. Oh, I mean-” Yukhei’s face twists into a cringe. His nerves are coaxing him into oversharing. Mark feels his heart skip a beat. He hasn’t heard Yukhei talk about modelling in months, a dream he’d birthed when they were in middle school, and listening to him let it slip so easily means that it still means just as much to him. 

Mark laughs, internally. He has to get out of here before he can embarrass himself any further. Before either of them could embarrass themselves further.

“Nice to meet you, Yukhei. I’m Spider-Man.” Mark says, firmly. He’s still getting used to the title even though it's been a week or so since he started utilizing it.

Yukhei nods aggressively, his eyes shining bright in the darkness. He moves his arms from where they’d been stiff at his sides, wiping them on the front of his sweatpants nervously before glancing back up at Mark.

“Weird that you're here. Outside your usual stomping grounds, you know?”

Mark doesn't know what to say to that. A cursory glance around lets him know that Yukhei is right on that front; he’s usually never in Yukhei’s neighborhood, instead opting to hang around closer to his and Donghyuck’s corner. Subconsciously, Mark must have drifted to where Yukhei resides. He shivers at the implications, and decides it’d be best to leave that discussion for later when it’s just himself tucked beneath his comforter in a dark room. 

“Must've been… fate.” Mark says the words before his brain can even catch up to them, and once they reach his ears, he reels back. He doesn't sound one but convincing; instead, he reminds himself of the foolish storybooks he once sat up reading as a child. 

_Fate? Are you fucking kidding me, Mark Lee? Fate?_

“Fate, huh.” Yukhei seems to toss the words back and forth in his head for a second, considering them. “I like that.”

Mark wants to lay his head in his hands and scream, but it wouldn’t be appropriate given the current circumstances. He needs to get _out of here_. After the two of them stand in silence for a few moments, Yukhei must realize this too.

“You’ve got a city to look out for, don’t you? Sorry for keeping you up like this.” 

“It’s all good, don’t apologize.” Mark utters the words calmly, words he probably needs to tell _himself_. “Stay safe out there, Xuxi.”

With his escape finally secured, Mark shoots some web onto the nearest fire escape, pulling himself up. When he launches off into the black of night, he doesn't notice the way that Yukhei’s head tilts to the side, ever so slightly.

* * *

Mark doesn't go back home, or to Hyuck’s.

When he knocks on the dark wood door in front of him, he only has to wait a few seconds before it’s swinging open.

Ten sighs when he meets Mark’s eyes. He’s dressed in nothing but a tank top and sweats, thick frames sat atop his nose. Mark observes his frown with a sheepish grin.

“Hey, Ten.” Mark says cutely, hoping to perhaps sweet talk his way onto Ten’s good side. It doesn’t work.

“It’s late. What are you doing wandering the streets, hm?”

Mark can almost feel heat radiate from the clothes he’d stuffed into his backpack on the way here, the clothes that would give him away in an instant. He hikes the bag further up his shoulder. “Nothin’.”

Ten rolls his eyes at that, but sidesteps to make a space for Mark to slip through the door. When he does, Ten claps him on the back of the neck, and Mark can hear his little snicker. 

This isn’t the first time Mark has appeared like a lost puppy on Ten’s doorstep. It’d become more frequent in the past two years, whenever he would have a particularly rotten fight with his brother, but he’d done it even before. Ten would always have food, a comfortable bed, and Netflix loaded up on the TV in the guest room; Mark thinks that makes him the perfect sleepover.

Ten really never asks questions, either.

The man strides back into the living room where he must’ve been before Mark interrupted him, greeting both of his cats stretched out over the couch with a coo before he plops back down. Mark follows him silently, tossing his backpack onto the ground next to the couch as he kicks off his shoes. Ten and Kun’s place has always been cozy, always feels like a _home_ even though they’ve moved so many times. Pictures are strewn over almost every wall and every surface, detailing a years-long story of friendship and of a romance that Mark has had a chance to witness since his childhood. The air smells of vanilla fragrance- something comforting to the body, especially since Ten hates those sharp, citrusy smells that Kun so adores, which Mark has always found ironic because of his current employment- and of something more savory. 

“Kun made luosifen. Still on the stove.” Ten gives Mark a _look_. “And when you finish, I’ll help you set up the bed.”

Mark sighs. Food sounds _incredible_ , especially after the day that he’s had. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” Ten hums as Mark rounds the corner into the kitchen. He’d expected to see Kun in there somewhere, but it’s empty; when he strains his ears, he can hear the shower on down the hallway. 

When Mark sits down at the kitchen table with a bowl, Ten suddenly appears at his side once more, a meowing Louis trailing behind him as he slides down into the seat across from where Mark is now shoveling noodles into his mouth. His stomach is still grumbling as he’s doing so.

Ten rests his chin on an open palm, leaning his weight onto the table and just watching Mark eat with feline eyes. Mark doesn’t pay him any mind; it’s nothing out of their norm, and it in fact makes him feel comforted on his worst days.

“Your brother is worried about you.”

Mark chokes on the food in his mouth, and Ten immediately jumps to attention with a napkin in his hand, blotting at Mark’s face and _tsking_ under his breath. “Sorry. But still.”

“You’re supposed to _not_ ask questions.” Mark retorts, swirling his cutlery around in the bowl.

“I’m not asking a question. I’m making an observation.” Ten says civilly, setting the napkin down onto the table. “I didn’t tell him that you’re here, right now, but I’m sure he figured it out on his own. He still tells me everything. Told me how weird things have been, how weird _you’ve_ been.”

Mark huffs. He’d come here to _avoid_ the lecture, and he’s getting one anyway. Secretly, he thanks God that Kun is still in the shower, because otherwise he’d be getting double-teamed. 

“I’m okay, Ten. I really am.” 

For a moment, he imagines how easy it would be to tell Ten everything, the man who’d always been a confidant to him. Would he be surprised? Scared? Would he smile and be proud of him? 

Ten stares at him for a few more beats, silent, gaze boring into Mark’s cheeks with laser focus.

“Alright, Mark. Alright.”

When Mark finishes his food, Ten drags him into the guest room and helps him set up the sheets and blankets as promised. Kun dips in for a second or two to say _hello_ before leaving- an early morning awaiting him- and Ten follows him not too long after, pressing the television remote into Mark’s hand with a sternly whispered _you’re still going to school tomorrow_. 

As Mark lets his eyes slide shut, sleep encompassing him with the quiet hum of the television, he thinks of Yukhei, and he thinks of his brother alone in their tiny apartment.

* * *

“I met Spider-Man yesterday,” Yukhei doesn't even offer a greeting as he plops down at their table, boxed lunch cast carelessly to the side as he delivers the news. Chenle lets out an inhuman gasp, slapping his hands down onto the table and standing.

“Huh?” Mark says, dumbly. 

“You're not serious,” Chenle says, disbelief edging his voice. Yukhei just nods enthusiastically, and Chenle places both hands over his mouth, eyes so wide that for a moment they look like they're going to pop out of his head. Jisung beside him doesn't look like he cares that much, instead just focusing his gaze on Chenle, and Donghyuck- ever the actor- opts to stare blankly at Yukhei; Renjun doesn't seem to have even heard Yukhei for a moment, but after Chenle’s grand show of emotion, he turns. 

“You probably just saw him swinging down the street,” Renjun says, his voice teasing as he plays absentmindedly with the crackers in his lunch. Renjun _tries_ his hardest to seem tough, but his own physical form often betrays him. Mark knows that his interest has been piqued.

“Nuh-uh.” Yukhei says, and suddenly everybody at the table is hanging onto his words, Chenle leaning in like this information will save his life if he listens hard enough. “He _saved_ me.”

A chorus of “huh” bounces around their table, Chenle of course the loudest. Yukhei just nods at all of their confusion. 

Donghyuck asks the question that all of them seem to want to. “From what?” Mark internally curses his friend for pursuing this line of questioning when Mark _knows_ it's gonna end in embarrassment for him.

Yukhei seems eager to reply. “So this dude tried mugging me in the alleyway near my apartment. Lo and behold, Spider-Man was _there_ and he punched the dude in the face and told him to get lost. And he was all like _I’m Spider-Man_ -” Yukhei makes his voice sound weirdly gruff, even though his is already quite deep. Mark cringes at the impression, and feels his heart rate increase with every forthcoming word. “-and I was like, thank you for saving me, you usually don't hang out in places like this. And he said that it was fate.”

Donghyuck snorts in laughter, and Mark makes a tiny note in the back of his head to smack him with a book later when it's just the two of them in English. 

It's then that Jeno and Jaemin arrive, lunch trays clutched precariously in their hands. Jaemin had dyed his hair over the weekend- a light pink similar to the kind that Taeyong used to wear a long time ago. 

“What're we talking about?” Jeno, already digging into his lunch, asks as he detects the odd ambiance hanging over their table. Yukhei opens his mouth to respond, but Chenle beats him to the chase.

“Yukhei got saved by Spider-Man!” Chenle practically screams, and a few heads turn in their direction. Chenle, never one to care about others’ reactions, isn't phased at all, but Yukhei quickly hisses in his direction.

“Keep it _down_.” 

Chenle nods quickly, practically vibrating in excitement, and lowers his voice. “Yukhei got saved by Spider-Man.” 

Jaemin gapes, straw from his juice box barely tapping his bottom lip. Jeno looks the same, and Renjun _finally_ looks like the information has sunk in, his eyes wide. Jisung no longer looks calm sitting next to Chenle.

The boy in question immediately launches off into a tangent. “You know, I’m a really big fan of his. I've seen all his stuff on YouTube, and I follow his tag on Twitter and Instagram. He’s really cool, you know, I think he’s really admirable for what he does. My mom says that he's dangerous, but I don't for one second believe her. He’s doing what other people _won't_.” Chenle speaks so fast that it sounds as if all the words are said at once. He’s buzzing with so much delight that Mark can almost _see_ it; when Chenle likes something, he loves it, and pours so much energy into it that not even Jisung could distract him from it. Mark is now letting it sink in that Chenle’s current obsession is really _him_ , one of his best friends. 

“No, he…” Yukhei speaks up again, but it's a lot more calm than his previous excitement. He sounds reminiscent, almost. “He’s really kind.” 

Mark lets his heart jackhammer in his chest, beating so hard against his ribcage that for a moment his entire body feels numb. It's almost like Cupid has just fired an arrow directly into his left asscheek, because staring at Yukhei's shining eyes and remembering the way they had looked the night prior made him feel a _way_. Yukhei is one to lay a dozen compliments upon his friends in a day just to make them happy and because he _means_ it, and Mark is no stranger to them; however, hearing him call Spider-Man _kind_ sets Mark off in a way that he can't even describe.

“That's fuckin’ crazy,” Mark mutters, speaking up for the first time. Yukhei turns those glowing eyes onto him.

Donghyuck eyes him curiously. 

Renjun, however, doesn't seem all that impressed. “I've told you a million times to stop walking around in the middle of the night by yourself. Now a dude in a colorful sweatsuit has to leap from the skies and save you.”

Mark wants to protest. It's not a _sweatsuit_. Well, it is. He’d gotten most of the pieces from walmart. Technically a sweatsuit. Nevermind. 

“It wasn't the middle of the night! It was eight and I wanted Frosted Flakes.” Yukhei objects, finally cracking open his lunch box and picking up the chopsticks laid next to it. He stabs dejectedly into the food. “I didn't even get them.” 

“Oh, who cares about the cereal! You met Spider-Man!” Chenle starts to fake sob, both hands over his eyes, and Jisung- facial expression as hard as a rock- rubs a comforting hand over Chenle’s back.

* * *

A week later, Mark tears his ski mask in a scuffle. And he loses one of his sneakers to the sewers. 

He’s reminded of their conversation at the lunch table a week prior, the one where Renjun had mocked Spider-Man’s _sweatsuit_. Mark hates that his friend was right on top of everything else; the clothes are ugly, undistinguishable apart from their color combination; they offer little to no protection, and he’s gotten his webs stuck on the long sleeves more than once. 

Mark relays his concerns to Donghyuck one afternoon where his patrol had been cut short.

“Look. I… know a guy,” Donghyuck says, twiddling his thumbs. Mark narrows his eyes at the action.

“What does that even mean?” 

“Okay. You know how Taeyong is like, the super-smart science kid in the family and how the genes _definitely_ didn't pass down through blood?” 

Mark rolls his eyes, even though he doesn't have the right to. He has a 73 in chemistry still. “Yes. Get to the point.” 

“And remember how when we were in middle school, Taeyong had that dumb science decathlon in D.C. and I made you come along with me so I wouldn't be bored?”

“Yeah. Worst decision of my life.” He shivers. They’d sat through three hours of high school students slapping bells and making things and cheering. 

“Okay. So the leader of Taeyong’s team was a dude named Kai. Do you remember Kai?”

“Hyuck, can you-” 

“Kai _might_ be a hacker who has a side job at this super weird lab in the middle of Manhattan and he _might_ be able to help you.” 

Mark's thoughts come to a screeching halt.

“Hyuck. Why are you acquainted with a hacker?” 

“That's besides the point. Do you want his help?”

Mark considers the offer for a second, but there’s really nothing to consider. He needs a new suit, one that can protect him when he needs it and still make him identifiable when he really needs it to be, one that _won’t_ catch his webs when he really needs them to shoot, and one that’s actually _comfortable_ to fight in. He has no choice, really.

“Alright.”

* * *

Mark doesn’t get to _meet_ Kai, like he’d thought he would. Two weeks after his discussion with Donghyuck, Mark gets a package in the mail, no return address, no otherwise identifiable information. Just “ _SM_.”

(In retrospect, Mark should not be opening suspiciously packaged boxes that appear on his doorstep. Could’ve been a bomb. Anthrax, maybe. He opens it anyway.)

When he observes the suit by himself in bedroom after hours of eyeing the box where he’d tossed it quite carelessly after his patrol, unwrapping the outfit like a Christmas present, he lifts it up ever so slowly by the shoulders, letting the rest of it dangle down so that it’s completely horizontal to him. 

It’s the same colors as his sweatpants-and-hoodie combo had been: red, blue, and black; It looks almost like a leotard, with its black lines criss-crossing across the red chest, the blue especially accentuating the thighs and lower back. 

When he tugs it on, its tight fabric clinging to his skin comfortably in a way that the sweatsuit never could, Mark feels a new fire get set beneath his heart, something good this time; he feels the sizzle in his chest, the flames in his veins, the heat in his cheeks.

He looks towards his window.

**You**

Johnny i’ll be back later

**Johnny**

? where r u going i’m almost home

**You**

I’ll be back

* * *

Atop the tallest building he could find, Mark stands and observes the city below him, the city that for once is quiet beneath his feet. He feels the fabric pulled taut over his skin, yet it’s still comfortable; and even though he’s this far up, the cold doesn’t reach through and prickle at his skin. His mask, pulled down over his face, doesn’t bring him discomfort like the old one did; firstly, his eyes are now protected by lenses that _don’t_ fall off and shatter with a particularly quick swing, _and_ his breathing comes much easier. Kai’s handiwork is admirable.

There’s only one more thing for him to do, really. 

As he steps up to the edge of the building, Mark exhales, his fears and reservations leaving him with the heavy breath. He closes his eyes. 

He lets go.

There are very few times in his life that Mark has felt free, truly free; he can count them all on one hand. He remembers leaping from the docks into the ocean one summer day with his brother, not a single care weighing down on his shoulders as his tiny body met the warm ocean water; He remembers that one Christmas, years ago, where his tiny little family huddled around a tiny little tree and in spite of the small number of presents to go around, it had been enough, and Mark’s heart had felt full. 

Those years had slipped out of his hands before he even knew it, amid fingers he tried so hard to close the gaps between, left behind after no singular day. Growing up, Mark thinks, took something vital away from him that he can't even pinpoint or name. Something he can never have back. 

But now, with a heart just as full as those years past, Mark knows that this is where he belongs. 

He flies.

Mark has never been able to see the world quite the same way he believes that everybody else does; its light, its good feelings, and its alacrity. Even in between all the days full of smiles and laughter that he has lived, cynicism had burst through the seams a long time ago. He found himself no longer able to lay back and be worry-free as he would have in his youth; now, a feeling of impending doom has settled itself upon his shoulders: Adulthood. He’s on the threshold of becoming a person with responsibilities, and he’s let that drag him down.

Everything that he had refused to see in the past is now culminating into one being of pure radiance, silencing the tumult in his heart that has been bombarding him for years on end. 

A wide smile breaks across his face. 

Mark shouts his joy, mouth wide, as he swings between the towering skyscrapers and buildings seemingly made up of nothing except glass; as he lets go of one web, he shoots another into a building on the opposite side, letting the momentum carry him higher and higher before he drops and lets the whole process start over again. 

“Holy shit,” Mark yells, and he's not sure who he's even speaking to. He just lets the world fly by in his periphery, and he lets the cold night air brush against his skin like water in a slow-moving river. His hair is flying in every direction, and he's sure a few of the dark strands brush his eyes, but he can't even feel it. He's clinging onto this feeling of euphoria, dancing through his veins and into his heart. 

Mark’s unsure of whether or not he blends into the night sky, but he finds himself uncaring; if people see him, let them see him. The world seems so small below him, cars like streaks of light on the asphalt, people little more than moving dots on the sidewalk. Everything is just so **bright.** He swings, shooting upwards in an arc. As he lets his body fall, pulled downwards by gravity, he shoots yet another web to a building above. For a moment, his form drops so low that he fears that his feet will brush the cars over which he glides, but the web pulls taut just before his toes reach the tough metal of a semi, launching him back through the empty space. 

Mark, for the first time in years, feels like himself.

“I’m Spider-Man!” He screams, and it almost feels as though the world is hanging onto those words just as he is.

* * *

**New York’s Favorite Vigilante Strikes Again**

_Article by H. Kim_

_November 3rd, 20XX_

_He strikes yet again, this time far away from where he usually patrols the streets. It seems as if New York City’s very own Spider-Man has now extended his range of defense._

_He pulls a cat out of a tree, and he’s called a hero. He punches a car thief, and he’s a hero. He saves three people from a bodega fire, he’s a hero. When there are people that have been doing all of this for years on end, not afforded the same respect because they don’t swing through the streets in a colorful leotard._

_I wonder if Spider-Man sees himself, sees the videos, and thinks to himself just how dumb it all is. To me, ever since he’s started making his runs, crime has been worse in our home. He can’t save the city. He can’t save the world._

_Give it up, Spider-Man._

* * *

**chenle** @spyderman

i would do anything for a chance to meet spider-man… so many of the people he meets take it for granted >:( oh to thank him for his hard work 

<in reply to @spyderman 

**sicheng** @win_win 

he’s a criminal 

<in reply to @win_win

 **chenle** @spyderman

HOW COULD YOU SAY THAT (；⌣̀_⌣́) he’s keeping all of us safe 

<in reply to @spyderman

 **sicheng** @win_win

if you want to meet him so badly commit a crime 

<in reply to @win_win

 **chenle** @spyderman

gege (`ー´)

* * *

“You know, I hate the way they talk about Spider-Man in the news. They make him sound like… like a _demon._ A criminal.” 

Mark looks up from his precalc homework to regard Yukhei, who had remained silent for most of lunch up to that point. He’d been doing his homework, too. 

Chenle makes a noise of affirmation around his startlingly large mouthful of sandwich. Renjun shrinks back a little bit, but Mark doesn't miss the tiny smirk on his face.

“Well. He technically _is,_ ” Jeno enters the conversation with a shrug. “He’s working against the law.”

“Yeah, but he’s _saving_ people,” Chenle counters, finally swallowing the bread. “He’s doing more than the cops ever will.”

Jeno grunts and nods his head. “You're right.” He spins around quickly to face Renjun, who sits opposite him. “Renjun, what do you think?”

Renjun retains his silence for a few more moments. “I think he’s doing good for the people that need him to.”

Mark misses the way that Renjun’s eyes flicker to his form as he resumes his work.

* * *

A ritual of sorts starts up on Mark’s nights out, against Mark’s will. 

He swings his way over to Yukhei’s neighborhood to check up on him before he sets out, because that's a normal thing that all spider-inclined friends do, right? Not weird. It's absolutely okay for him to monitor his friend’s movements. Actually, he doesn't like how that sounds, ‘monitor.’ What about… _observe_. A casual observance. 

He hadn’t even _meant_ to start it. One day, he’d let his body carry him the way it had wanted to go, just swinging without a thought in his mind. It had been a long night, one that had produced yet another scathing criticism from Mark’s very own best friend _H. Kim_ , a narrowly passed chemistry test as they inch closer to winter finals, and another disagreement between him and Johnny. 

So he just flies.

It’s nights like this that Mark is left with his own thoughts as he looms about through the city; the ones where there’s no activity, no movement, nothing except the occasional quiet pitter-patter of footsteps against pavement and the chatter of conversation as people pass him by. It's just past ten, cold as hell, and so windy that it should be a crime- Even with the insulation that Mark’s suit gets, the cold still reaches his bones especially as winter approaches, so he thinks he's right to complain- yet there's still people walking about like it's nothing. 

Mark stays out of sight, obscured by the shadows of buildings and by delightfully placed objects. He wants to say that he’s keeping an extra close eye out for criminals and wrongdoers, but he’s truly just lost in his thoughts, bubbling through his brain like a quiet creek on a spring afternoon. There’s too much on his mind. 

Sometimes, Mark wants to whisper his worries out into the empty air of the city, to the concrete that knows Spider-Man all too well but knows nothing about Mark Lee. He wants to tell the little cracks in the sidewalk about the fears that plague his soul and tear his heart into pieces, that which he can't tell even Donghyuck.

On nights like this, Mark wants to let himself sink down into the rest of the world.

Of course, he can't. There's always something holding him back.

“Hey, Spider-Man.”

Mark is sticking to the wall with just one foot, he realizes. He’s horizontal to the ground, ten feet above it, and when he looks down, Yukhei is standing there, neck tilted all the way back, staring right back up at him. 

“You doing okay up there?” Yukhei's voice sounds almost joking, and Mark’s sure that he is; both of his hands are in his pockets- from what he can see from his awful angle, of course- and there's a tiny smile teasing at his lips. 

How, Mark wants to ask the universe, do all roads lead to Yukhei Wong?

Mark lowers one of his feet to the brick of the wall, slowly walking himself down to reach the nearest fire escape. Once he does, he steps onto it, and lets the world shift directions. He peers over the ledge. Yukhei remains, much more normal looking now. 

“Yukhei,” Mark breathes, and the boy in question grins and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He’s wearing those same wire glasses, the ones that make him look so much softer and kinder than he already does, somehow. God, and he’s wearing Mark's favorite brown sweater, the one that Yukhei had saved up to buy during junior year. It looks a little small on him now, but it still makes him look like a poodle. 

(Mark had stolen it once last year. Yukhei had pretended like he hadn't noticed, but Mark knows he did. When he returned it to Yukhei’s closet on one Saturday morning, he remembers Yukhei having worn it the following Monday.)

“You remember my name!” Yukhei grins, and under his suit, Mark smiles right back at him. Seeing Yukhei after a long day of disappointments is all that he needs. 

“How could I forget?” Mark, in the last moment, remembers that he must deepen his voice, releasing the ugly guttural noise and cringing when it reaches his ears. Yukhei, surely recognizing this act, smirks just a bit harder, but doesn't say anything else.

“I like your new suit.” Yukhei says, jutting out a hip as he stares upwards.

Mark looks down at his own torso, lifting up his arms and taking his eyes across them like he’d forgotten about his gear switch himself. The fabric feels so much tighter on him, on his heart, when Yukhei is the one talking about it. Kai’s craftsmanship is admirable.

“Thank you,” Mark shouts back down, and Yukhei’s smile widens.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Yukhei lifts up a hand and takes two steps back. Mark returns the same motion.

His eyes don’t leave Yukhei’s form until it vanishes into his apartment building, and he most certainly cannot ignore the way that every bad thought that had been plaguing him had sunken into the deepest pits of his soul as soon as he’d met Yukhei’s eyes.

* * *

At school the next day, Mark finally finds it in himself to meet Yukhei during study hall again.

Ever since he’d started avoiding their daily appointments in the library, the two of them had been speaking to each other significantly less than they did before. Mark wanted to pretend it was because of class, because of college apps, because of stress, but they both know each other far too much to ever fall for that.

Somewhere in between his responsibilities to be Spider-Man and his feelings for Yukhei, the man in question had begun to slip through cracks that Mark h didn’t even know could ever exist between them, all because he can’t keep his own emotions in check.

Yukhei isn’t expecting him. That much is obvious by the way his eyebrows start to rise when he sees Mark approaching their table, that same one by all the encyclopedias and almanacs. _Their_ table. 

“Oh,” Yukhei says through a gaping mouth. “No art classroom to clean today?”

Mark rubs at the back of his neck in embarrassment. Yukhei probably hadn’t meant to sound combative, but he would be right to be. Mark’s excuses had become worse and worse as the days went by. “Nope. All yours.”

A grin graces Yukhei’s face. “Good.”

They study in silence like that for a while, going over their individual notes and flipping through the pages in their textbooks. It’s relaxing, something that Mark doesn’t really get to experience anymore; he always feels like he’s running and running and running with no rest, even when he’s on Donghyuck’s floor, even when he’s indulging in a silent dinner with his brother. They don’t share any more words until the bell rings, resonating through Mark’s finally-quiet brain. 

Yukhei’s voice rises up from the silence as he’s gathering all his books and shoving them into his backpack, zipping it up with practiced ease. “Kunhang’s having a thing tonight. You wanna… come with me?” Yukhei sounds disappointed already, like he knows exactly what Mark is going to say. It’s different from all the other times Mark had turned his party invitations down, a quiet sort of acceptance in his tone. Mark hates that.

He’s starting to hate himself for it.

“I really can't.” The practiced excuse comes easily to the tip of his tongue.

“Ah.” Yukhei says, his gaze dropping to the table below. “I’ll see you Monday, then?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Right before he leaves, Yukhei’s voice stops him again.

“Hey, Mark.” 

Mark turns back around to face Yukhei, sees his furrowed face.

“Are you and Donghyuck...” Yukhei doesn’t finish his sentence, shaking his head as if to clear the thoughts from it. “Nevermind. See you Monday, alright? Stay safe.”

Yukhei doesn’t give Mark a chance to say anything else, slinking out through the crowd of exiting students. He’s taller than all of them, though; from where Mark stands, Yukhei looks lonely above that crowd, so far above the rest of them. 

Maybe they’re more similar than he thinks.

* * *

Mark can see how it looks to anybody else. 

He and Donghyuck run around behind their friends’ backs, _clearly_ hiding something between the two of them; even Chenle eyes them suspiciously these days. And it's not as if Mark can come clean about the truth, about what they’re _really_ doing, no matter how much he wants to. So he’s willing to dodge Jaemin’s ever consistent questions and Jeno’s inquisitive glances, Chenle’s outright accusations and Renjun’s cold eye.

(Renjun’s hurts the most, he thinks. He sees the way that it hurts Donghyuck. But they’re doing it to keep their friends safe. They _have_ to lie.)

So if their friends want to assume that he and Donghyuck are dating behind their backs, then that’s just how it has to be. 

Their friend group are no strangers to relationships. There’s Jaemin and Jeno, who probably started dating in middle school and “realized” it just the year prior. Then there’s Jisung, who trails after an ever oblivious Chenle like a lost puppy waiting for pats. 

(Back in freshman year, when Yukhei had gone on a date with Dejun, Mark remembers the feeling that sat in the deepest pits of his stomach. Now, looking back on it, Mark can recognize that feeling as jealousy.)

“I feel like shit,” Donghyuck says, staring up at the stickers on his ceiling that he and Jeno had put up there probably a decade ago, his back on the floor. The two of them are alone in Donghyuck’s house on a Friday evening, Mark opting to take a smaller patrol instead of staying out for the whole night so that he could come over and keep his friend company. Both of their brothers had gone out to some fancy dinner party that Taeil was hosting at his place to celebrate an accomplishment at work, but he’d advised ahead of time that it was no place for children. Mark hates being called a _child_ , he’s _eighteen_ , but to them, he still is. Donghyuck’s seventeen, too.

“Me too,” Mark whispers from where he lies next to Donghyuck, nibbling on his pinky nail. “But-”

“But we have to. I know. I’m the one who said it first, remember?” Donghyuck’s tone is snappy, but Mark knows there’s no real bite to his words. He’s just tired, now. They both are, of everything. Donghyuck doesn’t go out and patrol the streets, but he does carry Mark’s secret with him on thin shoulders, hidden away from his friends and his family in a way that he’s still unfamiliar with, months since their promise’s inception. “It’s just… scary, you know? To be the only two people in the world that know something.” 

Mark rolls his head over so that he can meet Donghyuck’s eyes. He wants to frown at the exhaustion he sees there. “I’m sorry, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck huffs, smacking Mark with the back of his hand. “Sorry for what? Wanting to save the world? Don’t apologize to me for that.” 

He doesn’t stop there, however. “Sometimes I just get mad at myself because… why am I waiting so long for this one guy that probably doesn’t even like me back? I’m just…”

“Tired,” Mark finishes for him. He knows how it feels. Every day, it gets harder and harder to look Yukhei in the eyes. Every time he sits on the fire escape on the street across from where Yukhei lives, every time Yukhei visits him in his dreams. It’s never anything dark or scary, no; for that, Mark is thankful. His dreams are nothing but fairytales and open fields full of flowers, him and Yukhei sat over the edge of a cliff staring out at the wide ocean beyond, the glittering of the sea not bright enough to rival the glow in Yukhei’s eyes.

Mark wants to _escape_ it. He wants to escape his feelings. He yearns for the simplicity that he hasn’t tasted in years, the ease he finds in Yukhei’s eyes that he can’t find elsewhere. 

He can’t endanger Yukhei with his Spider-Manisms. Refuses to even consider the prospect. Because in his eighteen year life, Mark has been unable to keep a grasp on anything, not his family or school or the world as it twists and turns around him. All he wants is to keep Yukhei _safe_ , and that’s what he’ll do. 

With Donghyuck, Mark imagines, everything would just be _easy_ , wouldn’t it? Why does he have to want something so far out of his reach?

“Hyuck,” Mark swallows. “What if we-”

“Don’t even suggest it.” Donghyuck’s voice is tense, and it immediately breaks any line of thought that Mark had even begun to form. 

“You’re just confused, Mark. And upset. Me too.” Donghyuck grasps a sock between the toes on his left foot, throwing it into the laundry bin with ease. “I’m not what you want, and you're not what I want.”

Mark turns his gaze to where the sock landed. He can't look at Donghyuck, not even if he tried. 

“Yeah. I know.”

“Running away from how you feel won't make the feelings go anywhere,” Donghyuck’s voice gains a wistful tone, as if he’s years beyond his true age. There’s sadness there, sadness from months of heartache. “Trying to distract yourself from them won't do anything either.” He sounds as if he’s trying to tell himself that, too. 

Mark nods, even though he doesn't know if Donghyuck is even looking his way. He hopes he is, because Mark’s voice is caught deep in his throat. 

“I don't deserve to be a rebound. I-” Donghyuck’s voice catches, and Mark finally flickers his eyes towards his best friend. His cheeks are red, his eyes squeezed shut. Almost as if he’s trying not to cry. Mark resists the urge to reach out a hand and clasp him on the shoulder. That would probably be inappropriate, given the circumstances. Right? 

“I deserve a romance. The kind I’ve always wanted, you know? And so do you. You know what you really want, Mark.”

Mark exhales through his nose, imploring his nervousness to leave with the breath. “Do I?”

Mark knows the answer to that. He’s sure that everybody knows the answer to that, even _Johnny_ probably knows. He doesn't want to. _Knowing_ means accepting that it's true, and Mark can't say that he wants it to be true, even though it's been whispered in the back of his skull like a mantra for months. 

Suddenly, in a very Donghyuck fashion, the younger of the two kicks a leg out and jabs his foot against Mark’s shin. As Mark folds into himself in pain, grasping at his injured leg, Donghyuck looks on with a satisfied smirk twisting the corners of his mouth. 

“You know what you want, idiot. It’s six feet tall and smells like expensive cologne and it's definitely not Donghyuck Lee.” Donghyuck sniffs. He claps his hands together as if he’s clearing dirt from his palms.

“Did you have to _kick_ me to tell me that?” Mark’s shin pulses with pain beneath his fingers. He’s a superhuman, yet one kick to his shin has him nearly crying in pain. Had Donghyuck been bitten by a spider without telling him? 

Donghyuck lets him stew in pain for a few more moments, but once Mark finally lets his leg fall back down to the floor, he starts up again.

“Ever since you started doing this…” Donghyuck trails off, like he's unsure of whether or not he should really continue, but at Mark’s small nod, he does.

“It's like… you're yourself again, you know?” Donghyuck sounds sheepish in a way unbecoming of him. “Like… like you finally understand who you are. But there’s still this confusion in you, like you don’t know what the _world_ wants.” 

Mark doesn't say anything to that.

“To that, I say fuck the world, you know? You know what you want to do. You know what you want, too. _You_ know who you are. ” 

He hates how right Donghyuck always is, like the younger can reach into Mark’s inner workings and decipher their otherwise indecipherable languages to make sense in his own head. 

“And who’s that?” Mark says, with a smirk. He knows how much Donghyuck hates his name, how corny he thinks it is. Donghyuck rolls his eyes, gathering a large breath.

“You’re Spider-Man!” Donghyuck damn near screams, and Mark erupts in laughter, smacking Donghyuck in the stomach as he devolves into a fit of giggles as well. 

And just like that, everything _feels_ alright again. But Mark knows it isn’t, deep inside; there’s something looming in his conscience, and in Donghyuck’s words, it’s six feet tall and smells of expensive cologne.

* * *

A week later, Mark gets hit by a speeding car. 

His spidey-sense miserably fails him while he’s in pursuit of a carjacker. He looks away for _two seconds_ , and the car that had been jacked rams into him like he’s wearing all red and it’s a feral bull. Unlike the last time, however, Mark doesn’t escape unscathed; instead, after he finally manages to wrangle the offenders, he limps off into the alleyway where he’d carelessly tossed his backpack after school and damn near collapses from the effort that takes. With a shaking hand, he reaches into the front pocket to find where he’d shoved his phone.

 **You  
**Donghyuck i think my ankle is broken

 **donghyuck**

WHAT?

what happened? tell me where u are im on my way right now

  
As Mark tugs off his suit to replace it with his day outfit, he risks a glance down at his foot. He’s probably right about it being broken, what with the deep purple that has taken it over and the fact that moving it feels like the most monumental task he’s ever faced. 

**You**

Dude it’s definitely broken

Like I can’t move it at all

**donghyuck**

we have to go to the hospital man

**You**

I think it’ll heal like the rest

_You sent your location._

**donghyuck**

ARE U DUMB? 

i’m on my way right now don’t do anything stupid till i get there.

Begging you

bro what are we supposed to tell johnny

Isn’t he out with his friends tonight…. With taeyong too

**You**

Fuck

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

* * *

“God, Mark. What the hell happened?” 

Johnny’s voice bursts loudly through the already noisy emergency room, sending Mark into a flinch along with Donghyuck beside him. They’d spent the past hour spinning a lie to tell Johnny- something that could convince Mark’s notoriously inquisitive brother that nothing dangerous had really gone down- and Johnny's voice comes as a surprise to both of them. Mark feels like he's been caught red-handed. In a way, he supposes, he has. 

Upon arriving at the hospital, Mark’s worst fears were confirmed; the impact from the car had indeed broken his ankle, albeit a clean break. He and Donghyuck had dodged every question hurled at them, seeing no other option but to do so; however, when the doctor left to go ring up Mark’s brother, _that’s_ when everything sunk in.

Now that Johnny’s actually here, everything is reignited.

Mark swivels his head from where it rests on the pillow to meet the eyes of his very frazzled brother, distraught even physically: Johnny doesn't look as put together as he usually does, what with his hair sticking up in every direction and his face red. He must've dashed here from whatever restaurant he’d been at with his friends. At that thought, Jaehyun comes trailing behind Johnny’s larger form, looking almost just as worried. A cursory glance tells Mark that they’d gone _out_ out, button ups and slacks and dress shoes. That twinge of guilt makes itself known in the pit of his stomach as he observes the red in Johnny's eyes.

Yet, of course, as Mark always does, he opens his mouth and what spills from between his lips is not what he means to say. 

“Twisted my ankle. It's no big deal, Johnny.” Comes Mark’s voice, blunt as he attempts to absolve himself of the remorse that tickles him from his insides. Though he’s focused on Johnny and his form, Mark can distantly feel a small pinch on his thigh from Donghyuck. 

“What? Mark, how is this no big deal?” Johnny’s voice is tense, millimeters away from anger. Not anger at Mark’s injury- he knows this to be true- but instead at Mark’s response. Donghyuck’s fingers pinch him a little harder, and it takes everything in his power to not spin around and pinch him back. 

Mark opens his mouth to speak again, to hopefully clear the air and to perhaps take a step back on what he’s just said to his clearly worried brother, but Donghyuck must not trust him to do so. 

“We were being dumb, jumping around the park like we used to when we were little. Falling off of things hurts a bit more when you're older, I think.” Donghyuck jokes, finally managing to get Johnny’s red hot gaze to flicker away from his brother’s. It doesn't change the look on his face, however; his eyebrows seem to knit themselves closer together at Donghyuck’s words. 

Jaehyun twiddles his thumbs absentmindedly where he stands behind Johnny, almost as if he can detect the emotions rolling off of Mark’s brother in waves. 

“What were you doing at the park this late, anyway?” 

Johnny once again turns to look at Mark, but when their eyes meet this time, the anger seems to have flown out of them in spite of his still-furrowed brow. Mark almost huffs a sigh of relief. Leave it to Donghyuck to save the day. Sometimes, Mark wonders who the real hero is between the two of them. 

“Got bored at Hyuck's.” Mark responds in kind, his voice crackling just enough to turn his cheeks red. He thanks God that Taeyong was out with Johnny.

Johnny stares at him for a few more seconds before finally lowering his gaze to his feet on the floor below. 

“Still just as bad at lying as you were when you were twelve.” Johnny mumbles, unlike him, and Mark flinches for the second time in the past few minutes. Mark watches in real time as the emotions ebb out of Johnny’s body once again, leaving behind the husk that Mark has come to know all too well. Jaehyun watches on, too. Mark knows that he knows. 

For a moment, Mark revels in Johnny’s anger. It's _something_ out of him that's not the humor that comes to the surface easily. Something other than the happiness that he opts to exclusively show to Mark. Mark can't remember the last time he saw his brother cry, or rage, or even be confused. 

Mark doesn't see a lot of Johnny anymore, really.

An easy smile replaces the tension that had held Johnny’s face in a vice grip. “I'm glad you're okay, alright? You're so clumsy.”

Mark can hear the affection in Johnny's voice as his brother reaches out to ruffle Mark’s already messy head of hair. His hand lingers there for a moment, almost as if he’s afraid to pull away. Like he doesn't know the next time they'll be close like this. Instead of in his face, Mark can feel Johnny’s fear through his touch. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Mark playfully bats his brother’s hands away from him, laughing all the while. Finally, the stiffness and rigidity of the room had melted away into their normal banter.

As Johnny paces off to fill out the paperwork that the doctor had asked him to, Mark’s eyes follow his form, even as he giggles at something funny Jaehyun is saying about Taeyong. He watches the way those wide shoulders seem to be caving in, falling apart from the weight that they carry.

Just like in Yukhei, Mark is starting to see himself in Johnny.

* * *

**you find as he’ll i won’t you  
** _8 people_

**You**

Broke my ankle :/

**chenle**

wtf

what were you doing

**You**

Hyuck and I were being stupid  
I fell off those monkey bars back at our elementary school

 **jaemin**  
??? why were you there

are you okay though

**jisung**

wtf 

glad it’s not worse

**renjun**

U know we’re too damn big to be on those bars  
  
  


**You**

😒

_1 new message from yukhei 🎈_

**yukhei** **🎈**

stay over this weekend  
i’ll take care of you 😁

Mark’s face turns so red he's sure that cherries would glare at him in jealousy. Of all the things he expected to receive from Yukhei, that was not one of them. 

**You**

Haha sounds nice but just TRY and get Johnny to look away from me for two seconds.

He won't even let me go into the kitchen without staring at me 

**yukhei** **🎈**

let my mom try ;) you know how good her stew is. you know you want it so bad.

Mark does, imagining the savory taste of the meal she's made for Yukhei and his friends so many times. He squeezes his phone in his palm. Damn Yukhei for being so convincing. As his phone dings once more, Mark flinches.

 **yukhei** **🎈**

i’ll tell her to call johnny. she misses you, you know 

For a moment, the typing bubbles appear again, then quickly vanish. This repeats about three times before a message is finally sent.

 **yukhei** **🎈**

i miss you too haha

For a second, Mark doesn’t know what to say. He _knows_ that Yukhei misses him, and he knows that he misses Yukhei just as much, if the tiny glances they spared each other told any story.

**You**

Will you give me ice cream :(

 **yukhei** **🎈**

i’ll go buy it rn

wait does that mean you’ll actually come

**You**

Yes…

 **yukhei** **🎈**

YES 

YUPPPP 

we’re gonna have so much fun i promise

 **You  
**I’m sorta immobile

 **yukhei** **🎈**

and that’s okay…

if i gotta carry you i’ll carry you

get ready for the best weekend of your life

Mark swallows his nerves and all of the other emotions that bubble up with them, typing out a simple _ok_ in response.

It’s a logical course of action to spend the weekend with the best friend he’s obnoxiously in love with. It definitely is, he nods firmly. It’ll be okay.

* * *

**Spider-Man Missing From His Usual Runs?**

_Article by Irene Bae_

**Spider-Man Has Come To His Senses**

_Article by H. Kim_

**→Queens’s Famous Spider-Man Misses Day For The First Time**

_Article by Doyoung Kim_

_UBC News_

_Since his first appearance a couple of months ago, Spider-Man- once known as the Queens Webslinger- has never once gone a day without making at least one public appearance. However, today, Spider-Man was noticeably missing from his usual stomping ground in Queens. He was apparently struck by a vehicle on Thursday, which could be the source of the issue; yet, in the past, Spider-Man has seemingly sustained several much worse injuries. As the cause for his absence cannot be accurately determined, no assumption about his return can be made, either. The Daily Bugle’s Heechul Kim, a notorious and vocal Spider-Man critic, has insinuated that Spider-Man has now “...come to his senses, as he should have on his first ‘rescue’...” Yet, again, nothing more can be stated as fact until more details are gathered._

_  
_ _🟥_ _This story is still being updated._

* * *

**chenle** @spyderman

i really hope it’s nothing serious T-T

<in reply to @spyderman 

**jisung** @pjisung 

i‘m sure everything will be okay 

<in reply to @pjisung

 **chenle** @spyderman

u really think ;-(

<in reply to @spyderman

 **jisung** @pjisung 

yes of course… he’s spider-man

<in reply to @pjisung

 **chenle** @spyderman

WAAAA jiji you’re so right

<in reply to @spyderman

 **jisung** @pjisung 

….jiji?

* * *

After Johnny makes him promise to text him an update every twelve hours, him and Jaehyun speeding off down the road in the latter’s shitty old car, Mark finds himself on Yukhei’s doorstep for the first time in months, the cast boot on his foot weighing him down. He’d always seen kids wearing them around school, some with crutches and others without, and had always assumed that it would be easy to move around in and convenient to have overall. It is not.

He raises a hand to knock on the door, but he lowers his fist just as quickly. What does he even say to Yukhei, in his own house, after weeks on end of avoiding his presence? What’s he supposed to do when the questions start rolling in, the _what’s up_ and the _how have you been_.

 _Come on, Mark,_ He chides himself internally. _Stop overthinking everything. This is Yukhei. Your best friend, Yukhei, whom you have known since elementary school, who remembers when you based your entire personality around One Piece. It’s Yukhei._

With a deep, hearty sigh, Mark tries to let the nervousness leave him. He raises his fist again.

But the door swings open before Mark can bring his fist down onto it, a smirking Yukhei behind it. Mark’s hand stops in midair, inches away from Yukhei’s form, suspended awkwardly in between them. Just like everything else.

“Hiya,” Yukhei’s voice has an air of joking about it, as it usually does; Mark didn’t realize just how much he missed hearing that tone. “I’ve been watching you through the camera for like a minute.”

Mark’s eyes flicker over to the wall immediately beside the door, one of those fancy-looking Ring doorbells staring right back at him. Of course Yukhei’s mom had gotten one. 

“Oh.” Mark says, simply, and Yukhei is laughing again. Unconsciously, Mark starts to laugh too.

“Come in!” Yukhei shouts, clapping a large hand over Mark’s shoulder and all but dragging him through the door frame. Mark just moves with him, knowing better than to pull away, and Yukhei lets the door swing shut behind him. “Got the old Nintendo 64 out.”

It’s Mark’s turn to smack at Yukhei’s shoulder. “No way.”

Ever since they were shrimps in elementary school, Mark and Yukhei had bonded over Nintendo games. Back when they really couldn’t _talk_ to each other, when Yukhei couldn’t do much beyond tell somebody about his day in English, they’d played games to communicate. No common language was needed to cheer and toil over matches of Mario Kart 64, or its successor in the form of Double Dash (both linked by their cursed Rainbow Road,) and back then, that’s all they needed. 

Mark can remember that first lazy summer afternoon, seven-years old and eight, old remotes in hand as they would smack each other in efforts to distract from the race track. After they’d tired of Mario Kart, they’d moved on to the 2002 masterpiece that was Star Fox Adventures, and after that they’d played Super Monkey Ball; one or two of the games Yukhei owned had been in his native language, but that didn’t matter to either of them. 

Mark feels a smile in his heart. 

Mark limps slowly behind his taller friend to follow him into his bedroom, still just as colorfully messy as always. Usually, Mark pays no mind to the clothes strewn about just as much as he pays no mind to the complete lack of effort that Yukhei makes to clean it, but now, it brings about a sense of comfort, a sense of security that he hasn’t been able to feel. Just as in Donghyuck’s room, Yukhei’s feels like a reflection of his own personality. Not to say that he’s _messy_ , but he’s delightfully all over the place; Mark has always told Yukhei that he feels the need to be everywhere at once, in everyone’s business, on top of the world. Yukhei usually just shrugs him off with a nonchalant and accepting _yeah_. 

“Where’s your mom?” Mark questions, tossing the backpack he’d brought along on the floor next to where Yukhei’s school backpack rests against the wall. Yukhei moves quickly across the room on long legs to pick up a remote, nudging the other towards Mark with his foot.

“Told you she was gonna make the stew. She had to go pick some stuff up for it.” Yukhei replies as Mark plops down to the ground, delighted to finally get the weight off of his leg. At those words, Mark can feel his stomach start to rumble. It’s been _ages_. “Now. I hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked at Mario ‘64.”

“What? No way.” Mark clutches the remote harder in his indignance. “You know that I beat you nine times out of ten.”

“Untrue!”

“It’s true and you don’t want to accept it. Now let’s go.” 

“You win because you’re a _cheater_.”

“I don’t cheat! You’re just easily distracted.”

Yukhei clicks his tongue, but doesn’t say anything to refute Mark’s claim. He really _can’t,_ because they both know it’s true. When Mark calls his friend a puppy, he’s not kidding.

 _“Welcome to Mario Kart!”_ Exclaims Mario in his delightfully awful voice. Combined with the music, high-pitched and upbeat, a song of nostalgia starts to play in Mark’s heart.

For the first time in months, Mark feels like a kid again, sitting on Yukhei’s floor with a Nintendo remote clutched in clammy hands, knees touching and the loud clicking of buttons, in the middle of Yukhei’s forever messy room, in that piece of his big, big heart. 

“You’re gonna lose today, Mark Lee.” Yukhei challenges, mischievous look upon his face. He spares a glance at Mark, who looks back at him just the same. In that look they share, there’s a million words unsaid, words that perhaps cannot be said, words that wouldn’t make sense to either of them or to anybody else. 

“Only if I let you beat me, Yukhei Wong.”

* * *

They spend most of the rest of the day doing the same thing, only periodically stopping to grab snacks or to use the bathroom. Mark thinks that Yukhei might be worse than Johnny with all the doting he’s doing, his stern refusal to let Mark do anything for himself. When Mark had offhandedly mentioned a craving for saltines, he didn’t miss the way that Yukhei had immediately reached out for his phone, no doubt relaying the message to his mother; not too long after that, Mark had choked a little bit on absolutely nothing, and within seconds, Yukhei had shot up to his feet, scampering into the kitchen and returning with a generously filled glass of water clutched in his hands.

“Yukhei-” Mark had started, not that long ago, but the aforementioned cut him off instantly. 

“I said I’d take care of you today, didn’t I?” Is all he said, simply, leaving no room for disagreement or rebuttal. “So let me take care of you.”  
  
  


Mark, of course, could always disagree when there’s no space for him to do so. “You really don’t have to, Yukhei.”

Yukhei had turned his wordless gaze onto Mark’s, and that’s all Mark needed him to say. _I want to_. 

An hour after that, Mark realized that he hadn’t thought about being Spider-Man in a while. There was no reason for him to, not when he didn’t have to be the hero for once. When Yukhei was taking care of _him_ , and not the other way around, where Mark was the sole person able to bring about any sort of change. It’s easy to forget about his troubles when Yukhei is sitting on the floor across from him, smiling, laughing with all the joy in his heart. 

Mark hadn’t meant to leave Yukhei behind.

He knows how much Yukhei has missed him, the older had even told him so; however, there’s so much that Yukhei _isn’t_ saying, so much being shown in what he’s doing; the quiet hand placed atop Mark’s thigh that Yukhei perhaps hadn’t even meant to touch him with, or the hyperfixation on making sure that Mark is _okay_ every second that they’re together. Yukhei probably doesn’t even realize that he’s overdoing it, that he’s treating Mark like a baby. 

_Hey_ , Mark wants to say. _I’m alright_.

But that’s a lie, and as soon as he would say it, Yukhei would fix him with an unbelieving stare. Because they both know it’s not true. Mark’s sitting on Yukhei’s floor with a broken ankle, and they haven’t spoken properly in months.

They’d moved on from Mario Kart 64 at that point and the Nintendo 64 overall, graduating to the much more sophisticated GameCube system to play The Legend of Zelda: The Windwaker. Yukhei’s been manning the remote for the past twenty minutes, Mark sitting not too far from his left, watching with rapt attention. It’s been at least eight years since they’d last played this game together, and since then, about a dozen different Zelda games have been released. Through it all, this one remained their absolute favorite.

“Hey,” Mark starts, just as Yukhei bashes a bokoblin over the head with a sword. “So…”

Mark doesn’t want to say ‘how have you been?’ because that opens the door for Yukhei to ask the same question, and Mark most certainly is incapable of answering that. So he opts for something much more easily answered, very straightforward, something they have yet to discuss with each other. “How are college apps going?”

Yukhei glances over at Mark momentarily, but doesn’t pause the game. “They’ve been interesting, to say the least. I’m only applying for schools in the state, so I can stay close to home. Finished the NYU app the day before yesterday, and the Columbia one last week. Fingers crossed on Columbia.” 

Sometimes, Mark forgets just how damn _smart_ Yukhei is, and that he’s not that many steps far behind their class’s valedictorian and salutatorian. He’s more of the natural-born talent type, the kind that doesn’t do much studying but still breezes their way through school anyway. Mark used to feel envious, but once, Yukhei’d told him just how easy it is for him to burn out, to want to give up. In eighth grade, that burn out had hit him like a comet; Mark still remembers the tears, the straight C’s, the disappointment in himself.

“What about you, huh?” Mark startles as Yukhei’s voice rises up again just as he defeats another enemy on screen. “What’s happening on this episode of Mark Lee’s Life?”

There’s not much to say about the _school_ aspect of his life. Between being Spider-Man and trying not to fail his classes, Mark had submitted a measly two college applications to city schools. He’d wanted to attend Johnny’s alma mater- NYU- since childhood, but unlike his brother, who’d managed to score a full ride, his grades were bad at best and dreadful at worst. Even if he _could_ get into the school, there’s no way he could get all the scholarships he really needs to be able to attend. The two of them could barely make it past bills, let alone a sixty-thousand dollar tuition. There’s no hope of Mark ever being able to afford dorms, so he doesn’t even think about it. 

“Eh.” He mutters, leaning his head back against Yukhei’s mattress. “I applied for a couple CUNYs. We’ll see.”

At those words, Yukhei finally pauses the game, tossing the remote down into his lap and spiraling his neck to fix Mark with an incredulous look.

“What happened to NYU?”

Mark scoffs. “Not good enough for NYU. Can’t afford it even if I was.”

Yukhei just blinks for a second, clearly searching for words. 

“You know you’re incredible, Mark.” Yukhei’s voice isn’t that loud, but Mark hears it clearly. “Anybody that’s ever met you can tell you that.” 

He shakes his head. Mark had made a mistake in bringing this up too, clearly. “Not good enough for _that_.” 

Yukhei continues to ogle him for a few seconds longer, but he must decide not to say anything further. It’s almost as if Mark can feel the scrape of his eyes as he looks away.

“You’re not any lesser for going to a CUNY. You know that. But... you’ve always told me about how much you want to go to NYU. When I was filling out that app…” Yukhei trails off, unpausing the game and resuming the beating of whichever monster had been waiting. “I was thinking, I wonder what Mark is gonna put on his.”

He doesn’t look back at Mark, but the younger can still feel the weight of his gaze as if he did. “You always find a way. That’s like, your thing. And I’ve always believed in you because of it.” Yukhei nudges Mark’s knee with his. “I won’t pressure you, man. Won’t bring it up again. Just… think about it.”

Mark had made up his mind on NYU a long time ago, but somehow, looking at Yukhei’s side profile, his words hanging in the air as though dangling by strings, Mark thinks that the decision isn’t as set in stone as it once was.

* * *

Dinner might’ve been quiet if not for Yukhei’s mother, as bright as always and just as talkative as her son on her best days. Yukhei’s father and brother are out of town on business, so it’s just the three of them around the dinner table.

Mark knows he killed their little sleepover mood when he’d brought up schooling earlier. Yukhei looks as if he has a lot on his mind, now, stirring stew in his bowl dejectedly despite being so excited to eat it earlier. It has incredible taste, just as it always does, but it admittedly sits in Mark’s stomach awkwardly as he observes his friend’s odd behavior.

After Yukhei and his mom have cleaned up the mess- Yukhei immediately snapping his fingers at Mark as soon as he’d tried to even help- the two boys begin to make their way back over to Yukhei’s bedroom. Inches from the door, however, Yukhei grabs at Mark’s arm, holding him in place. When Mark spirals around to meet Yukhei’s eyes, he almost flinches at the emotion that he can see there.

“Can we talk?” Yukhei says, his voice sounding strained. Mark nods before he can say anything, before his brain can catch up and say _this is what you’re meant to avoid._

“Okay.” Yukhei mutters. “Okay. I’m gonna go… tell mom something, but you can go sit on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

As Yukhei dashes back down the hallway, his back to Mark, any stew that hadn’t already been there sinks to the deepest confines of Mark’s stomach, along with his heart.

Mark rests his chin on his folded knees, just letting himself sink further into Yukhei’s mattress. It's memory foam, the best type, and everytime Mark comes over he catches himself slipping further and further into complete serenity when he finds himself on top of it. He doesn't focus too much on the comfort it brings, though; instead, he’s listening to the quiet whirring of the fan that Yukhei never seems to turn off, one of those tall ones. It spins and spins from where it sits next to his bed, even on the coldest of nights. The two of them had sat underneath Yukhei’s thick comforter a billion times almost as if they were hiding from the fan itself; Mark thinks that he just keeps it on for it's sound.

It's the only thing grounding him, keeping him out of his head. He doesn't want to think about why he’s even here right now to begin with. He’s-

Yukhei comes brushing into his bedroom quietly, much more quietly than Mark has ever come to expect from him. Usually, it's with some kind of unnecessary cheer or greeting, even if he’d just left the room to pee, to announce that he is once again present. An ‘I’m back!’ or ‘Did you miss me?’ usually. Mark has never admitted how warm the noise makes him feel. 

Mark unlaces one of his arms from where it was wrapped around his leg, letting it fall to rest on the bed sheets. He clutches them ever so slightly as Yukhei paces over, taking a seat on the same side as Mark’s free hand. Mark’s sure that he looks so tiny next to Yukhei like this, wrapped up in his own limbs and holding onto the sheets like a baby. 

Yukhei still doesn't say anything, though. Both of his hands are between his legs, fiddling around with one another, nervous energy abound. He seems to be looking everywhere except where Mark is sitting next to him. 

“I miss you, you know?”

Yukhei’s voice breaks through the silence, a rock rippling the surface of a quiet pond, but it's weak and almost feeble as it reaches Mark’s ears. It doesn't sound like the Yukhei that Mark has come to know, the one who is always so sure of himself, the one who always speaks his mind. Strangely enough, he sounds afraid. Afraid of what?

Mark feels something tug at his heartstrings, hearing Yukhei like this. He doesn't know what to say for a moment, so he just opens and closes his mouth, but the motor in his brain refuses to rev up. 

“I know. I miss you too. It's just…” Mark trails off. He’s truly unsure of what to say, and that scares him. With Yukhei, he’s supposed to know **.** He’s always supposed to know. Why is he losing control of everything? “I've… been doing a lot. School is tough, and Johnny’s really been riding my ass about chem-”

“We both know that's not true.” Yukhei huffs, effectively breaking Mark’s trail of thought. “When has chem ever kept you away from me?”

Yukhei’s voice cuts through his like a sharpened blade through paper. It's _harsh_ , hard-hitting; in that instant, Mark allows himself to flinch. Just like all the other times, Mark was sure that Yukhei would easily accept the excuse. It's feasible, considering his history. For a moment, though, he forgets that he’s speaking to Yukhei, his best friend, who probably saw through Mark’s very first lie and gave him the benefit of the doubt to eventually tell the truth. But Yukhei doesn't get angry or frustrated with Mark, never. He’s so patient, so kind and forgiving. Has Mark taken advantage of that? Has he pushed him to the edge?

He wants to say no, he hasn't kept away from Yukhei. He’s been watching over him, he hasn't forgotten about him-

Mark swallows back the tears he feels creeping up on him, willing them to stay away from him, from them. Yukhei isn't even looking at him, and Mark _knows_ he doesn't make a sound, but Yukhei’s hand still comes up to rest comfortingly on Mark’s thigh, an attempt to assuage the emotions that somehow, he just feels. 

“Yukhei, I-” Mark starts, but Yukhei shushes him. 

“Mark, just…” Mark pretends he doesn't hear Yukhei’s tiny sniffle. “Just tell me the truth. Please.” 

Mark reaches a shaky hand up to grasp Yukhei’s where it's resting on his thigh, gripping it like it's his lifeline. Yukhei flips it over just like that so that he can hold onto Mark’s hand too, and he’s finally turning his head to meet Mark’s eyes. They're red, tears threatening to spill over their edges at any moment, and Mark doesn't want this, he didn't want to make Yukhei cry.

Yukhei, who has always held him and comforted him wordlessly in his most fearful moments. Yukhei, who has stood by his side for years on end and made him smile on his worst days and doubly on his best. Yukhei, who is filled with so much joy and passion that he sets out to make everyone in the world happy with himself as a medium. Yukhei. 

Mark, the dark cloud. The poison in the well. How can he keep him safe if he knows, if he finds out what Mark’s been hiding from him? 

Mark doesn't know what to do. 

He’s so afraid and so unsure that he lets his legs fall down from where he was still holding them up, breath coming heavily all the while, and he allows something inside of him to break with the loosening of his muscles. The pressure, the fears and insecurities that he has felt on those worst nights standing alone above a city so much bigger than him, come crashing down like a tower made of glass all at once. I’m scared, Mark wants to say. I don't know if I’m doing enough.

The thing with Yukhei, though, is that he never has to say it. His arms open up without any further words, and Mark flings himself into them like they're the only home he's ever known. 

Mark tries to control himself and keep his rampant emotions in check, but the storm raging inside his heart can no longer stay silent as Yukhei wraps his long arms around his sobbing form. They hold onto one another for dear life, no sounds except for Mark’s muffled cries and the persistent hum of the fan. 

Even among all of this, part of Mark still wants to will himself to keep his emotions away from Yukhei, to keep him safe from everything, to never let him see the inside of Mark’s new steely heart developed only after long nights alone on rooftops and fire escapes. But Yukhei never allows this, he never has and never will. Those big hands rub calming circles on Mark’s spine, slow and more sure than anything Mark has ever known, confident in their ability to do at least that. His fingers trace lines on Mark’s other bones, his shoulder blades and- as they slowly unwind- his ribcage. Mark lets Yukhei pull them even closer together to where Mark is almost sitting completely in Yukhei’s lap, and Yukhei is cradling him; for anybody else, Mark knows that this would be odd, peculiar, but to the two of them, it feels natural. Mark lets his head fall onto Yukhei’s shoulder like a puzzle piece, his sobs no more than quiet whimpers at this point. Mark lets his arms wind around Yukhei’s back so that his hands rest gently on his shoulder blades. 

Yukhei’s thumb still rubs on Mark’s shoulder, its owner still not offering any words. He doesn't realize how much time has passed, nor just how heavy his eyes feel because of the exhaustion he feels from _everything_ **.** From school to his friends to Spider-Man to his feelings, Mark is _exhausted._

When Mark’s eyes finally slide shut, his head still pressed into Yukhei’s shoulder, he can't see the way that Yukhei stares at him, nor does he realize that he never did much talking to begin with.

* * *

The morning is calm. 

Silence hangs over the room like a sheet, like dew on the tips of grass in the earliest hours of dawn. There's nothing, Mark realizes. No familiar hum.

And then he hears the breath from below him, and everything comes rushing back to him at once. 

At some point during the night, Yukhei had laid down fully, head against his pillows. Mark had come down with him as a result, his head now resting on Yukhei’s chest, rising and falling with his breathing. Up and down. Up and down. To Mark, it's like a comfort. Something consistent for him to hang on to. For the first time in weeks- months, really- Mark finds himself in a little bubble of his own where it's just him and Yukhei, no roaring city, no life-threatening situations. 

For a moment, Mark allows his mind to wander. He sees himself in a wide field full of flowers, bustling with petals and stems as far as the eye can see, glimmering with as many colors as human existence can perceive. There he stands, in a patch of yellow- sunflowers, standing tall above the rest- letting a warm spring breeze tickle his nose as it brushes through the garden almost silently. Yukhei’s there, too, standing a few steps ahead, his back turned to Mark. 

Mark calls out his name, and when he turns around, Mark envisions the brightest smile one could ever produce, one that shines more brilliantly than the sun above them, warming their skin; glimmering more beautifully than the stars in the sky at night. No, they could never even compare.

He’s too afraid to move, too afraid to ruin this moment. Mark wants to stay like this forever, his face smashed into Yukhei’s chest, Yukhei’s arm around his waist, just the two of them-

Yukhei makes a grunting noise, and Mark flinches so hard he swears he shoots up a foot from the bed.

Yukhei groans from below him, shifting slowly as if to move Mark from where he’s directly on top of him. Mark tries to relocate to the other side of the bed, but Yukhei has still got him in a firm grip, whether he realizes it or not.

“Good morning,” Yukhei’s voice comes, and Mark flinches again.

“Good morning,” He replies. “You turned off the fan,” Mark murmurs, his voice so quiet that it barely reaches his own ears. Yukhei squints tired eyes back at him. 

“Mm,” Yukhei makes a guttural noise, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Didn't want it to wake you up.” 

“You know I can't even hear it anymore.”

Yukhei’s arm that had been wrapped around Mark’s waist- its upper part trapped beneath his torso- moves, and Mark feels a big hand at the back of his head, running long fingers through the hair there. 

“Things are different,” Yukhei moves to sit up, and Mark goes with the motion, yet he remains just as close to Yukhei as he did before, Yukhei’s hand in his hair, their torsos inches from one another. It’s still an odd position, but Mark doesn’t feel all too uncomfortable.

They stare into each other’s eyes for a few moments like this, like they're the only two people in the world. Mark thinks that they just might be.

Mark’s mind is blank as he leans forward and presses his lips to Yukhei’s, letting his eyes slip shut with the motion. For once, he isn't thinking. There aren't ten billion dilemmas that he has to solve by noon running laps in his head. No, all he can think about is Yukhei, Xuxi, his everything.

It’s a gentle kiss. There's no aggression or extreme displays of passion from either of them; instead, they move with each other quietly, as quiet as the morning, just Mark and Xuxi and Xuxi and Mark. He can feel Yukhei’s hand where it's still tangled into his hair, his thumb rubbing circles into his scalp, freeing Mark’s heart in a dozen ways. It feels right, being with him like this; like the world had been waiting, seated at the edge of its chair in anticipation for the two of them to finally let their souls clash. Mark feels like his chest is shaking with how hard his heart is beating against his ribcage. 

There’s a small sound as they part from each other, lips both cherry red from the press. Mark lets his eyes open slowly, Yukhei following suit, and it feels as if he’s opening them for the first time. They're staring at each other again, two dumb kids.

And the weight of what Mark has just done comes crashing down onto his shoulders, almost as if he was Atlas no longer able to bear the weight of the world. He feels everything shatter around him as he allows himself to get lost in the color of Yukhei’s eyes, the fear there, the care. 

Mark isn't thinking about how Yukhei kissed him back, or how the older still hasn't moved his hand from where it rests on the back of Mark’s skull. He isn't thinking about those things he sees deep in Yukhei’s soul, the things he knows he sees in himself on late nights staring at a tired face in his bathroom mirror. 

The butterflies in his chest have been shot down with a dozen arrows, pinned to the walls of his ribcage, unmoving, lifeless.

Because he loves Yukhei. He can't run from that anymore. But Mark had promised himself all those months ago that no matter what, he would protect him. He would never let Yukhei get hurt. By anybody else, or by him.

How can he protect Yukhei like this?

“I’m...” He stops, unable to think of anything else to say. “I'm sorry,” 

Mark reaches up with a quick hand to yank himself away from where he’s entangled in Yukhei’s arms, scrambling over tired and sore limbs to clamber from Yukhei’s large mattress. As Mark struggles from the bed, he knocks his still-unhealed ankle into the metal on the frame, and he can see Yukhei flinch out of his periphery at the loud wince of pain he lets out. 

“Mark,” Yukhei’s voice is weak, barely more than a whisper. It strikes a chord deep in Mark’s chest, so low and forlorn that Mark wrenches his eyes shut as he finally finds his footing on the cold hardwood floor. 

He doesn't look back as he limps to the bedroom door and yanks it open, as he feels tears bubble over and down his cheeks, tears he hadn't even known were filling his eyes. Mark is repeating it like a mantra in his head, letting the words bang around in his skull until they sink in.

I won't hurt him. I won't hurt him. I won't hurt him.

Mark stumbles down the hallway much like he had stumbled through the door, letting his ankle slow him just a little in his march towards the front door of Yukhei’s apartment. Through his watery eyes, a cursory glance towards the window in the kitchen lets him know it's still early morning, no sun peaking over the tallest buildings just yet. 

Mark runs.

* * *

Mark tells Donghyuck, but they don’t talk about it any more after that.

He comes back through his apartment’s door like he’d just been chased by hellhounds, slamming it shut behind him just as loudly, making sure that he creates enough noise that Johnny can hear him. He’d left his backpack at Yukhei’s, trying too hard to escape, but it’s no big deal. He’d had his phone in his pocket, and that’s all he really needed. As he kicks off his shoes, moving towards his bedroom, he hears another door down the hall open up.

“Mark?”

It’s not his brother’s voice, though it’s one he knows almost just as much. When he glances up, he sees Jaehyun, clothed in a large hoodie that _definitely_ belongs to Johnny and hopefully a pair of shorts underneath it. His hair is ruffled like he’s just been sitting in front of a fan, voice groggy, and Mark knows that he’s just woken him up. Johnny, ever the heavy sleeper, is probably still snoring it up.

“Uh, hey Jaehyun.” Mark says. He’s got to straighten up. If Jaehyun senses something wrong with Mark, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’d relay the information to his best friend.

“You’re back a day early,” He says, and Mark doesn’t think too hard about how Jaehyun says “back” like he lives here, too. “Something happen?”

“No,” Mark all but snaps, moving to open the door to his bedroom. Jaehyun doesn’t follow him in, but instead observes him from outside of the door frame. “What are you doing here so early, anyway?”

Jaehyun’s quiet for a few seconds- like he's scrutinizing Mark with his tired eyes-before he sighs. “Johnny’s gonna be mad that you came back here on your own.”

“Whatever,” Mark mutters. Johnny’s anger is the least of his worries. 

Somehow, Mark still feels that stew in the confines of his stomach.

* * *

Weeks pass.

Mark pours himself into patrolling as soon as his ankle heals enough to allow him to, back into the Spider-Man identity that he had managed to forget for that one night. It’s hard, he thinks, having to shut back down.

The bounds of his relationships with his friends are being tested, every second of every day, even with Donghyuck. Their text chains are a billion times shorter, days in between them at some points, sad little messages dotting their screens. Their group chat still blows up at all hours of the day, the other members just as talkative as they’ve always been, but Mark can’t find it in himself to ever join in. 

Donghyuck tries. He really does. He tries to drag Mark out with them, tries to get him to _talk_ to him, but Mark can’t. He’s not sure that he really wants to, either. At some point, he just stops trying.

Mark doesn’t talk to Yukhei.

He skips mornings and lunch periods in the cafeteria, those same excuses he’d always given to avoid study hall with Yukhei now falling out of his lips to the rest of them, as well. Sometimes, when Mark passes him by in the hallway, they share a silent glance, a billion words being spoken between them without them ever being uttered. Mark always looks away just as quickly. 

He has to protect Yukhei from himself.

But then, he thinks about the way that Yukhei’s lips felt, the way his hand tangled into the hair at the back of Mark’s head, the way Mark had started to wind his arms around Yukhei’s hips. He remembers, vividly, and he doesn’t want to.  
  
Being Spider-Man has become more dangerous as Mark has become more reckless. He’s fighting with less care, because he doesn’t think he _cares_ at all, anymore. It’s become something brainless, a responsibility. Taeil’s words from that night in the restaurant now seem so far away.

* * *

**chenle** @spyderman

i’m glad spider-man is back but like. Something just feels different.

<in reply to @spyderman 

**felix** @spiderlix

You’re right :/

<in reply to @spiderlix

 **chenle** @spyderman

it’s just.. concerning. He isn’t talking to people like he used to. i wonder what happened to our friendly neighborhood spider-man

<in reply to @spyderman

 **felix** @spiderlix

Let’s just trust that he’ll bounce back soon

<in reply to @spiderlix

 **chenle** @spyderman

we should. come on spider-man… come home T-T

* * *

Mark doesn’t talk to Yukhei, but there’s one thing that doesn’t change.

He still goes to that street across from his apartment, every day before his patrol.

Spider-Man leaps off into the bright colors of the sunset, the sun falling down beneath the cloudless horizon, letting the cool winds brushing against his form soothe his mind as he flies. It's going to be an early night for him today. Johnny’ll be glad. They haven’t been seeing too much of each other recently.

The weight of the world is monumental, Mark thinks. How can people be asked to carry its burden?

His webs take him somewhere he knows all too well, somewhere he comes on his most tumultuous of days and most draining of nights. When his feet land on the familiar fire escape- he’s always there, so there absolutely _has_ to be a firm imprint in the shape of his ass on the edge of it- some of that tension finally bleeds out from him in a heavy, heart-wrenching sigh. He tugs the mask off, and stares into the empty night sky, the oranges and reds of sunset now long forgotten.

When he started doing this, he never realized what the _consequences_ could be. He thought that he would use his new superhuman abilities to kick some ass, keep his neighborhood safe, keep people smiling. The grins and generous actions he receives in response to his work has always been enough; just doing it felt right to him, but there's something about the _thank you_ that just makes him feel proud, like he’s doing something good that before, nobody else would even think of doing. Helping those who are usually ignored, who, upon watching terrible things happen to them usually just resign and keep on moving. Mark wanted to _change_ things. 

But, what of the things he can't change with his own hands, his own body, his own strength? What of the system, the people grinded up and spat back out by a world that wants nothing to do with them? 

What about his own life, that he’s damn near destroyed at this point? The friends who look on in disappointment when he says that he can't make it out somewhere. The look on _his_ face that Mark can’t forget, no matter how desperately he tries to?

He’d sworn an oath to be Spider-Man, to protect the neighborhood that created him and the people that sheltered him. But what about _Mark Lee_ , high school senior Mark Lee, surrounded by the best people that anybody could ever ask for, the Mark that has an obligation to his face _friends?_

_What do I do?_

Mark wants to reach up and tug on his hair, searching for any kind of reprieve from the tumult in his mind, but a lightbulb goes off over his head, reminding him of his present location. With his ass firmly pressed against the very cold metal of the fire escape, Mark looks up.

Yukhei isn't there, for once. 

Mark blinks one or two more times, but Yukhei’s silhouette never appears. His lights are on, and the curtains aren't drawn, but the star of Yukhei’s Room is notably missing. 

Confused, Mark shoots a web onto the fire escape, letting himself drop down slowly on one of the shooters until both of his feet touch the ground. He looks around for a few seconds, like that’ll tell him where Yukhei is. Mark continues on like this for a few more moments until-

“Spider-Man,”

Mark nearly jumps out of his suit when he hears the voice behind him before his brain catches up to him; Mark, you're not wearing your mask. Spider-Man does not have his mask on. Nobody can see you, put the mask on put the mask on- 

He pulls down the mask. 

Then, he’s spinning around so quickly that he’s sure he gives himself whiplash. That voice is so familiar and so _not supposed to be here_.

“Yukhei,” Mark breathes, meeting the eyes of the aforementioned where he stands behind him, looking just as surprised as he had been the first time they had met, when Mark had swooped from the skies and saved his wallet. The momentary panic of _almost getting caught_ slips from the forefront of his mind. He hasn’t said his name in so long. He hasn’t looked at him for more than two seconds for _so long_.

There’s a grocery bag clutched in Yukhei’s right hand, his phone in the other, and he’s dressed simply; a simple pair of black sweatpants and a matching black hoodie. He’s wearing his glasses for once, Mark notes, the wire-framed ones. He never wears them to school. 

Yukhei looks away from Mark to glance at the buildings around them, tall and intimidating in comparison to where they stand. Mark has swung through them so many times that they feel like his friends, like something familiar that he’s learned to greet. There’s something like wonder twinkling in Yukhei’s eyes, like he’s asking himself how Mark does it; or maybe, Mark thinks, he’s imagining himself up there, too. Finally, he lowers his gaze back to Mark’s eyes. Or... eye holes. 

“A lot of people have seen you around here,” Yukhei’s voice drops into a whisper as he continues. “You following me?”

Mark _knows_ his face brightens until it rivals the color of a cherry underneath his mask. He wasn't expecting Yukhei to say _that_ , not by a long shot, and he most certainly wasn't expecting him to be _right._

“Uh-”

“I’m just playing with you,” Yukhei smiles, and Mark just feels his heart rate increase. He doesn't know, he _can't_ know, if he knows, everything would fall apart-

“Hey, Spider-Man. Don't you have a city to go save, instead of worrying about little old me?” 

Yukhei’s voice cuts through Mark’s panic, just like it always does, and it levels his head almost immediately. He stares back at Yukhei, smile still tugging at his lips, and doesn't know what to do except lift up one of his hands in a wave. Yukhei returns the gesture, his phone still clutched in his palm, and starts off in the direction of his apartment, eyes still on Mark as he shoots off a web and lets his body get pulled into the sky.

* * *

**6 new messages**

fineas and pherb 

_8 people_

**donghyuck  
**DUDE 

oh wait wrong chat sorry 

**chenle**

?

**jeno**

uh oh 

🦁☀️

**donghyuck**

didn't mean to send that to the group chat 

BUT BRO 

**You**

What’s up

**donghyuck**

RENJUN KISSED ME

Mark sits up inadvisably fast.

**You**

HE WHAT 

fineas and pherb 

_8 people_

**renjun**  
me and donghyuck are together

 **donghyuck  
**WTF

we were going to SURPRISE them

**jeno**

Nobody is surprised

 **chenle**  
LET’S GOOOOOO

jisung you owe me thirty bucks 

**jisung  
**oh come on i thought we were joking 

**chenle**  
i don't joke about money 

**donghyuck**  
you were betting on our love life?

 **chenle**  
yeah 

**jisung  
**yeah

 **jeno**  
tbh 

**jaemin**  
it's fun 

**donghyuck**  
😒

well. that makes four huh 

**chenle**  
four what 

**donghyuck**

i'll let you figure it out 

**jeno**  
four couples 

**chenle**  
? there's two 

i see the third. But? what's four 

Mark frowns at his screen.

 **renjun**  
Darling 

**jaemin**  
chenle….

 **jisung**  
😂

 **jeno**  
i think we should let you figure that out 

**chenle**  
guys i'm so lost 

Mark finally decides to speak. They can see him reading their messages anyway. However, next to each of their messages, a solitary “1” remains. 

**You**

There’s no four 

**donghyuck**  
👤

 **renjun**  
👤

 **jeno**  
👤

 **You**  
Stop that 

**jaemin**  
👤

 **chenle**  
👤

 **jaemin  
**YOU are definitely not allowed to do that 

Mark flinches as he watches the final “1” disappear from next to his message. That means that all of the group’s eight members are present in the chat.

But no response comes. 

Everyone is silent for a moment, Mark included. Chenle’s notoriously chatty self even refrains from typing.

 _yukhei_ _🎈_ _is typing…_

Mark flinches so hard that he shuts his phone screen off in the process, hurling his phone so far away from him that he distantly hears it plop somewhere in his blankets.

His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? He’d just seen Yukhei _yesterday_. They’d spoken to each other. But Mark wasn’t scared yesterday. Maybe the mask had provided a shield, a shield from Yukhei’s scrutinizing gaze. Mark glances towards the closet where his suit is hidden in a box at the very bottom, so far back that Johnny wouldn’t go looking for it no matter what. He looks towards his clock.

11:58. 

Mark has been out _late_ a couple of times since what happened with Yukhei, sneaking out through his window and returning just the same hours later. Sleep has become hard with his thoughts running so wildly within the confines of his skull, damn near impossible. The only remedy he’s found to help him has been patrol. 

As he always does before he sets out, Mark shoots a text off to Donghyuck, tugging on his suit with a quickness. At the end, he makes sure to tack on a little _congratulations._

**donghyuck**

thanks mark

be safe.

And mark just.

please just talk to him

We all need you to talk to him.

Mark stares at his phone for a few moments before pocketing it. When he slides open his window, a fresh blast of freezing cold air blows in his face. It’s painful, almost as if he can feel crystals of ice stabbing into his skin, digging their way in.

_Huh. It’s almost December._

* * *

When Mark returns, its nearly three in the morning, and he has bruises all up his arm.

He tugs the suit off easily, albeit with his non-injured arm, and hurls it back into its secret closet box. As he kicks it back into the bounds of the closet, he glances towards his door. He sees light spilling underneath it, pouring into his room like individual rivers, bright yellow against the darkness of the bedroom.

Johnny’s awake.

Pulling a hoodie over his head- one that he’d just thrown somewhere onto his floor without a care the day prior- Mark goes to open it, stepping out into their bright living room. There, he sees his brother sitting on the couch, television screen black, bent over with his elbows on his thighs; there’s no phone in his hands, no computer on his lap. Johnny is just sitting there.

“Hey, Johnny.” Mark whispers, convinced for a moment that his brother is asleep. “What are you-”

“Where have you been?”

There’s nothing good in Johnny’s voice. No sarcasm, no joking. It’s raw and biting, scratchy, even; it sends Mark into a flinch.

“What?”

Johnny suddenly stands up, one of his joints cracking with the motion, and he whirls around to face his brother.

He looks so _tired_.

Gone are the bright cheeks and glowing eyes of the brother that Mark remembers. In their place are eye bags, dark, heavy eye bags. His eyes look almost the shade of the night outside, deep swirling pits of despair. Mark wants to gasp, wants to ask, but he can’t find his voice. Not as he stares into those eyes.

“Where the hell were you last night, huh? I called everybody. Yukhei, Donghyuck. Donghyuck shrugged me off, and I had my suspicions, so I called Taeyong. Told me he hasn't seen you there in weeks. After that I went down to the first floor and asked our neighbors if they'd seen you. I was one step away from calling the police, Mark. One. You can't-” Johnny pauses, his voice catching in his throat. He rests his hand on the back of the couch for leverage before continuing. “You can't do this to me, Mark.”

Indignant- the same defensiveness that has kept Mark safe for months- rears its ugly head. “I wasn't doing anything bad, Johnny. Back off.” Mark says before he can stop himself. His eyes widen. That's not what he meant to say at all. Aggression- though frustration may be a better word for it- has been boiling in his gut for days. He can't do anything right. Not his job. Not Yukhei.

“Back off?” Johnny’s voice gains a dangerous edge, anger lacing every forthcoming word. Seeing Johnny like this- furious, so much so that his emotions are bubbling over and morphing into something foreign to Mark- does nothing except strike pain in Mark’s heart. He did this. This is his fault. His calm and caring brother is exploding- like a supernova- into something brand new and never before seen. “You’re telling me to back off when _you’re_ the one scaring the shit out of me? When you're the one who vanishes for hours on end without a _single_ phone call to your brother who's sitting at the kitchen table waiting for you to come home? How do you expect me to feel when it's one in the morning and I don't know where my little brother is? When it's three? When it's four?”

“Johnny-”

“No.” Johnny snaps, cutting Mark off effectively. Like a dam, Johnny is releasing everything he’s wanted to say to Mark for months, everything that had passed between them with glances and hands on shoulders and disappointed text messages. Everything is coming to a head, long before Mark can say he was ready for it to. “No. Mom trusted me to take care of you and to never let harm come your way. I _promised_ her.” Raw emotion seeps into Johnny’s tone, and Mark tries his hardest to ignore the tears welling up in his brother’s eyes to no avail. He resists every urge he has to pull Johnny into a hug.

Mark remembers how Johnny had been in those months long ago, tense nights spent in hospital lobbies and hallways, waiting for something they knew was going to come no matter how much they wished to postpone it. He had retreated into himself, locking all of his feelings of grief and despair behind a wall so thick that not even a bulldozer could destroy it, just so Mark could have a safe place. Just so Mark could _smile_ even amidst all of the strife. Johnny had hidden those Bad Things for years and years, always approaching Mark with that bright smile, just so he could make his brother happy. 

Mark is watching those walls fall down, now. They crumble into pieces so small that they're almost powder, collapsing until there's nothing left. He watches them pour out of his brother so forcefully that he finds himself unable to even consider stopping it.

And it's all his fault.

One tear falls, and then another. Mark is unable to find the strength in himself to speak.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Johnny whispers, and even in between his tears, he’s still trying his hardest to maintain some semblance of control over his rampant emotions. He’s trying his hardest to pick up that powdered wall in an effort to pretend like it had never been destroyed in the first place. “I'm not going to _let_ you.” 

“Do what?” Mark mutters, and he curses himself for only being able to say that. Johnny is shattering in front of him, and he can only say that. 

_I don't even know what I’m doing._

“Throw away everything.”

“You don't even know what’s going on-”

“No, I _don't_! Because you won't tell me! You used to tell me everything, Mark. All of your fears and concerns. Now I can barely get you to say good morning over breakfast. What's wrong with you?”

Mark didn't realize just how much things were slipping out of control.  
  
Mark thinks about how easy it would all be, then; to tell Johnny about everything. The night it all started, when he and Yukhei had gone out to that **fucking** party. The bite. The day he woke up and started sticking to walls, breaking faucets in the shower when he knew that they barely had the money to replace it. Saving Donghyuck from the car. Saving Yukhei from the thief. Yukhei. Yukhei. 

He sees Johnny’s tears, wet against his cheeks. His hair is mussed, like he had run his hands through it a dozen times, and the bags under his eyes are as clear as day. On all of those nights Mark had stayed out trying his hardest to be a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he had never considered how his brother would be sitting at home, alone, waiting for him to return. Waiting for Mark to tell him about his day after dragging his feet home from a long day of his own. Because even though Johnny had never said it, that kept him sane. 

Mark remembers those first few months on their own, Johnny sitting at his bedside, humming and running his fingers through Mark’s hair because he thought he was asleep. Their mother had done the same thing when Mark was a kid too scared to sleep by himself in the dark, and even when he had his nightlight, he still found himself unable to sleep through the night without it. He remembers the hastily prepared dinners and sometimes messy breakfasts that tasted just like home in and of itself that Johnny would always make, no matter how tired he was, just so they could be together. Just so they could be happy. 

(Once, Mark recalls, before heading to school, he’d mentioned how badly he craved Thai food offhandedly. Johnny strode through the door at five p.m that day- an hour earlier than usual- with an arm full of Thai takeout.)

On a Friday night months ago- before the bite- Johnny had gone out with his friends to unwind.

(Sometimes, being in his early twenties and being burdened with the care of a teenager took a toll on Johnny.)

Taeyong and Jaehyun had carried Johnny back into the house with one of his arms around their respective shoulders, Johnny, of course, being blackout drunk and babbling some nonsense about dogs in parks and rocks. While Taeyong dragged Johnny down the hallway and into his bedroom, Jaehyun stayed behind, fixing Mark with an odd stare. Mark just tilted his head, and Jaehyun smiled in response. 

“He would hate for you to have seen him like this,” Jaehyun had started, leaning against the back of their living room couch. “He'd rather die than let you see anything but perfection.”

“I think I’ll remember ‘doggie rocks’ forever,” Mark giggled, and Jaehyun returned a chuckle of his own. But, after a few moments, the smile had slipped from the older’s face, leaving a somber expression in its wake.

“He didn't want to go out tonight, you know. Said you have a big algebra test on Monday that he should be helping you study for. I insisted that no respectable sixteen-year-old boy is sitting on his ass on a Friday night studying for algebra. He caved. Eventually.” Jaehyun crossed his arms and tipped his head down. “Sometimes I think he forgets about himself.”

Mark sighed, because yes, he did. Mark couldn't count all the times he had to text Johnny to make sure he ate lunch. “I know.”

Jaehyun exhaled. “But I don't worry, because I know you're looking out for him just like he's looking out for you.” 

Before Mark could say anything else, Taeyong stumbled back out of the hallway, looking disheveled in every sense of the word. Johnny must've put up a fight before Taeyong could get him to lay down. Mark snorted at the thought. 

When Mark woke up the next morning, Johnny and Jaehyun (who had presumably stayed the night to keep an eye on the former) were seated at their tiny kitchen table, coffee in hand, and breakfast prepared. Johnny never missed a beat. His brother had greeted him with a sheepish smile and an apology when Mark had sat down at the table, and Mark just shrugged it off, reaching for the sausage.

Jaehyun was right. These last few months had thrown their relationship in every direction, tearing apart the years and years of trust and love that it was built on. Somewhere on his path, Mark had lost his brother, by no fault of anyone except himself. 

Mark opens his mouth, and the words fall from his mouth with much more ease than he would have ever expected them to.

“I’m Spider-Man.”

The words hang in the empty air between them for seconds that could easily have stretched into minutes. Mark isn’t shaking like he thought he would when this day would have inevitably come. He’s standing firm, his feet planted on the ground below him, Johnny’s wide eyes staring back.

Mark expects Johnny to say a lot of things. _What’s wrong with you_ , maybe, or _how could you_? Mark expects his anger. That’s not what he gets.

“Makes sense.” Johnny scoffs, but it’s not a cruel sound, more like he’s doing it to himself. Like _he_ should have known better. “Is that how you broke your ankle? Fuck. I’m dumb as hell.”

Mark blinks.

“Why didn't you tell me, Mark?”

The thing is, as the months have passed and the days have gone by, Mark has started to forget why he wanted to keep it such a big secret. Why he refused so adamantly to tell his brother. Then, he would remind himself that he has to keep his friends and family safe, safe from the mantle of Spider-Man, which carries so much danger from all the people he’s had to face. But now, as he looks on at his brother’s tired face, the toll everything has taken on his body, Mark starts to feel himself deflate, loosen up. For the first time in a while, he feels _comfortable_ with Spider-Man.

So he tells the truth.

“I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to worry anybody.”

Johnny looks on at him for a few more seconds, those eyes that had been on the verge of bubbling over with emotion now gentle and kind. “Mark-”

“I just didn't want to be a burden. You-” His voice is catching in his throat, now. Fuck. “You already have so much to deal with.”

“Mark,” Johnny starts again, and it’s that voice that he would use back when they were younger, when Mark was still a kid and- as kids do- would hurt himself, tears flowing down his little cheeks, scraped knees and bruised elbows. Johnny would scramble up, put his hands on his brother’s shoulders, and ask him if he was alright.

 _No_ , Mark would always say. _It hurts._

 _Well._ Johnny would giggle. Mark hated that, hated that it was a laughable thing to Johnny, and he would always pout back. _That’s why I’m here. To make sure everything is alright with Markie._

Mark feels big arms envelope his form, and for the second time in a few weeks, Mark feels himself break apart.

He cries.

Johnny doesn’t say anything, though. He rubs circles on Mark’s back silently, his cheek pressed against the crown of Mark’s head, rocking the two of them back and forth in the tiniest way.

“Mark. You remember what Ma used to say to us all the time?” Johnny whispers, trying not to disturb the sanctity of the moment. Mark sniffles.

“She said, ‘if you use up all the good in your heart for others until there's nothing left, what good will that do anybody?’”

“I always thought that was stupid.” Mark retorts, and Johnny laughs.

“Mark. If you burn yourself out, you can't help anybody. That's what she meant. Save some of the love in your heart for yourself. You can't lend it away to everybody without expecting repercussions.”

Mark wants to scoff just as his brother did not too long ago. “I know.”

Finally, Johnny stops rubbing his brother’s back, taking a step or two backwards and placing his hands on Mark’s shoulders to look into his eyes.

“It’s gonna be alright, Mark.” Johnny says, firmly. “You have me in on this now, too.”

Mark doesn’t doubt those words for one second. Because Johnny doesn’t lie to him, never has, never will. When he says things, he means it, with every single bit of strength in his heart. It’s almost as if Johnny’s face has re-absorbed those eye bags, having regained its same youthful air. His eyes now burn with determination.

“Okay,” Mark says. And he means it, too.

* * *

**chenle on priv** @lelelele 🔒

i know i only ever talk about spider-man but

can i be serious for a second

<in reply to @lelelele 

**jaemin** @nanajaem 🔒

uh oh

<in reply to @nanajaem

 **chenle on priv** @lelelele 🔒

shut up jaemin. I just wanted to say that i miss our friends. i miss us.

<in reply to @lelelele

 **jaemin** @nanajaem 🔒

we’re all right here

<in reply to @nanajaem

 **chenle on priv** @lelelele 🔒  
Not all of us.

:/

  
<in reply to @lelelele

 **jaemin** @nanajaem 🔒

:(

* * *

**renjun**

meet me near the locker room after school today.

 **You  
**Can’t

**renjun**

fuck that. Meet me near the locker room after school today or i’ll tell donghyuck about that time you got a carrot stuck up your nose and we had to go to the nurse while he was in korea.  
  
  


**You  
**You wouldn’t. He’d never let me live that down.  
  
  


**renjun  
**he wouldn’t. So what’s the logical course of action?

* * *

When Mark makes it to the basement, where the locker rooms are in the very back of the school, Renjun is already there, his bright blue t-shirt incredibly stark against the white of the wall behind him.

“Hey,” Mark starts, but Renjun cuts him off almost instantly.

“You're quite insistent upon keeping Xuxi in the dark,” Renjun murmurs, and the way he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed is really making this seem like an interrogation in a spy film. There's a shadow over half of his face on top of it all. “And somehow, you've managed to get Donghyuck to keep his big mouth closed, too. Last time I told him a secret, the entire friend group knew about it by lunch.” Renjun stops abruptly, and turns his gaze to the empty wall in front of him. Mark swallows. 

“So that means whatever the two of you are doing, it's dangerous. Dangerous enough to warrant Donghyuck's silence.”

Mark scoffs. He’s been doing that a lot lately, on top of other things. “We aren't doing anything.” He lies, easily.

“Mark,” Renjun starts, his eyes sliding back to meet those of the aforementioned, something quiet but powerful burning deep in those pupils of his. Sometimes, Mark thinks that Renjun’s eyes could do more speaking than words ever possibly would. “I've known you for almost my entire life. I've been with you through the highs and lows, the loss of teeth, our preteen years. I remember the braces and the near scoliosis. I remember a lot of things, Mark. Never once, in all of these years, have you been able to lie to me without me seeing right through you like glass. Nothing’s changed. You can sit here and lie as many times as you want to. But Mark…” Renjun pauses for a moment, leaning forward ever so slightly and shutting his eyes as he shakes his head slowly. 

“All you're doing is scaring me. All you're doing is scaring _us._ ”

Mark has nothing to say to that. He stares blankly at Renjun, who stares blankly at him in return before he huffs.

“Nothing lasts forever,” Renjun suddenly says, and the look in his eyes- like knives tipped with the deadliest poison known to man- drills into Mark’s very soul. Renjun _might_ be the most serious of the lot, but Mark knows him as a giggly, fun loving, and prankster with obnoxious laughter just the same. Seeing him like _this_ fills his soul with ice. “Everything is ephemeral.”

“What?” 

“Do you believe that, Mark?” Renjun asks, his voice reaching subzero temperatures. Mark swallows. 

“Do I-” 

“I don't.” There's anger rife in his voice as he snaps. “I don't believe that. I know that we’re in high school, and things from high school aren't supposed to last forever and ever like in the movies. I knew from childhood that we would all _change_ eventually, but I hoped and I prayed that despite those changes we would adapt to one another and stick together nonetheless. I believe that we _can_ make things last forever if we _try_. And we will change. We’ll fight, we’ll disagree, but at the end of the day, we’ll come back to each other. As new people.

“For a long time, I thought that you might believe that too, even though I never asked you. You know, Mark, you and Xuxi are the oldest out of all of us. Seniors. And I thought, in spite of graduation, _you_ would stick by us still. I don't think you realize how much all of us depend on one another. For the little things.” Renjun finally pauses to scoff again. “Chenle stopped me on the way out of the lunch room a few days ago. Asked if he should start playing Overwatch. When I asked him why, he said that maybe _that_ would make you talk to us again.”

Mark feels a blazing hot knife dig its way into his heart. 

“Mark, I thought we would be the exceptions. I thought we could defy expectations. I don't believe in the ephemerality of things the way a lot of people do. I don't think I ever will, because we've been together this long. I think I’ve known about seven different versions of Jaemin and Jisung. I remember when Jeno was obsessed with dinosaurs for a year and then the year after that he wanted to dance and didn't give a shit about dinosaurs. Remember when Chenle went through the Naruto phase? Or when Donghyuck rebuked music for an _entire year_ because he was angry that he messed up that recital so badly in middle school? I remember when _you_ were so fucking stubborn that you consistently crashed at my house every time you fought with Johnny so you wouldn't have to apologize. People do change, Mark. So do relationships. But as long as you always remember, in the back of your head, that you've already changed a million times, and you still have people sticking by you, nothing matters.” 

Renjun uncrosses his arms to stick his hands in his pockets, poking his bottom lip out at Mark angrily.

(He hasn't done that in years. Renjun has changed in a billion different ways, but some things are just ingrained.)

“I hate who you've changed into. Maybe that's contradictory, because I promised myself that I would always try to work around the big changes for the good of all of us. Because somehow, I've always known that you guys thought the same thing, and I could always find the _you_ that I know underneath all the new things. But now…” Renjun shakes his head. “...I’m not so sure. I'm not so sure I know who you are anymore. The Mark who always stood by his friends is so far away now. And I _miss_ him. I can’t begin to accept this changed version of you because I don't know what fucking changed.”

Renjun feels _vulnerable_ to Mark in an unfamiliar way. It's not very often that Renjun explodes like this; he’s so in control of his own emotions, in control of _everybody else,_ that he never has to. Now, Mark supposes, he feels everything slipping out of his grasp. For once, he feels like he isn't in control.

“Mark. Just ... find out what it is that you want from us. Because I won't watch us fall apart, if it's the last thing I do. We’re all that I've got.” He turns around, his back to Mark. “Stop lying to us. Please. Tell me what's _wrong_. Right now, it feels like _us_ and _you_. And I have never wanted that.”

Even with his back to Mark, he can still see the way Renjun’s head drops.

“Maybe I’m trying too hard.” Mark _thinks_ he hears a sniffle. “But I don't want to lose you. I can’t.” 

Despite it all, Renjun squeezes out a bit of weak laughter.

“You know, the group chat is kinda dead without you. If Jaemin sends one more ‘can we facetime’ with no answer, I think I might just go mad.” Renjun has calmed down, now, though his questions still ring in the air between them. “Come to me when you're ready. I’m waiting.”

Renjun sets off back down the hallway, back towards the stairs that would take him out of the building, but Mark wants to stop him. He wants to shout.

_What’s another one for the list of Spider-Friends?_

“I'm Spider-Man.”

Renjun stops in his tracks, one or two steps away from the doors. Slowly, he brings up both of his arms to cross them together, and twists back around to face Mark.

“I kinda had a feeling.” He says, just as simply as Johnny had. Mark really doesn’t appreciate how his big secret is having zero impact on _anybody._

It was a lot easier than it had been with Johnny. His voice hadn’t gotten stuck for even a moment.

“What gave me away?” Mark says, and Renjun giggles. He’s finally gotten to the point where he could _joke_ about Spider-Man. Who would’ve thought.

“Fate, Mark? Really? Who else would say that cheesy shit to Yukhei?”

Mark sputters, and finally, Renjun devolves into laughter as well, the sound enveloping his entire body. The mention of Yukhei didn’t hurt him as much as it would’ve a week ago, before he’d told Johnny, before this. Somehow, bit by bit, the ache in his heart is being relieved. _Spider-Man_ doesn’t hurt like it used to.

Renjun finally calms, his shoulders ceasing in their jumping. He looks back up at Mark, slowly, as if doing it any more quickly would disrupt their moment. Renjun tips his head to the side, curiosity knitting his brow. He hesitates for a moment, but not for very long, as he never does.

“What does he…” Renjun tries to find the words. “What does he make you feel?”

Mark pauses. Suddenly, the topic of conversation is no longer _him_ , no longer _Spider-Man_ , but Yukhei. Yukhei, who makes him feel like a different person. He huffs, determined not to show on his face how rattled the question really made him feel, and instead, he stares down at the brown color of the floor below him. 

In all honesty, Mark can't make sense of the things he feels. Most of the time, it’s a tough combination of confusion, frustration, and the obvious attraction; that's when he even allows himself to think about it. But there’s more than one reason that he finds himself drawn to Yukhei.

It’s in the way he looks. In the way his eyes crinkle the slightest bit when his lips stretch to form the large smile that he always seems to be wearing (his smile, oh God, his smile. His teeth always shine so brightly in the light, so white. It makes his eyes look even more beautiful; the contrast between the light and the dark making Mark’s heart swell with happiness every single time he manages to make him smile.) In the way he let out that strong Yukhei laugh, booming and making anyone in the nearest vicinity to look over at him and laugh with him. From that soft expression that he always has on his face, the one that practically screamed generosity and amiability. That nose that wrinkles with the rest of his (stunning) face every time someone plays a joke on him. That face that expresses everything that he thinks or says. Yukhei’s warm demeanor never failed to make Mark want to smile as much as he did.

It disguises itself in his personality. He’s always so kind and giving to everyone he's ever met, no matter who or what they are. He holds out his hand to everybody, he shows politeness to everybody. He loves everybody. He would go out of his way to tell someone that they look beautiful, that they’re extraordinary. His heart is something akin to a flower, blooming so that people can see its beauty and benefit from its growth. 

It thrives in his mind. Yukhei always knows what to say and when to say it, although he’s astonishingly loud and expressive of all his emotions, Yukhei knows when to take the feelings of others into consideration. It’s that shoulder he offers in times of fear or sadness, and the fact that he always wipes up the tears, no matter how many there are or how much they have stained his shirt. Yukhei has always had a penchant for making people smile, and he does it so easily; in fact, it's nearly impossible to look at him when his lips are spread from cheek to cheek and not want to mimic him. He’s a rock, but so much brighter than that: perhaps the better word to describe him would be ‘diamond.’ Unbreakable.

It’s just that. It’s what made Yukhei...Yukhei.

Mark Lee is absolutely, undeniably, and irrevocably in love with Wong Yukhei, so much so that he swears the stars align when Yukhei simply stands next to him, and he can't think of anyone on the entire planet that he would rather be in love with.

Mark, of course, does not say this.

“He makes me feel… a lot.” is what Mark settles for.

Renjun stares at him for a long second, a scrutiny that only he can produce etched into his irises, but he simply hums.

“Okay,” Renjun says. “Do you want to meet the others for coffee?”

Mark’s eyes shoot up, his skin buzzing. He misses his friends so much that there’s not enough words to describe how much he does. 

“Is he-”

“No,” Renjun shakes his head. “He’s out with Dejun doing something.”

Mark inhales, slowly. 

“Okay.”

* * *

Coffee is a chaotic affair.

It’d been a long time since Mark had allowed himself to _relax_ after school; months, really. He’d forgotten about their longstanding Thursday tradition of crowding into the biggest table in the corner of _Yootopia_ , the cafe tucked in between a laundromat and a noodle joint, on the second floor above another laundromat. It’s owned by one of Johnny’s old college acquaintances, Kihyun Yoo, a man that seems unassuming at first but is anything but. Sometimes, it feels like Johnny knows everybody. 

The others are already there when Mark arrives, stuffed into a table that’s _supposed_ to have a max capacity of four, but somehow the eight of them always find a way, even if that means damn near sitting on top of each other. Kihyun had long since stopped trying to separate them into two tables. 

Today, Mark supposes, it’s just seven. 

It’s Chenle that spots him first, waving him over with an excited hand.

“Mark!” He shouts, and Mark is thankful that the cafe is nearly empty save for them as Chenle’s voice rings clear. “Hey!”

“He sees you, Chenle. We’re the only people here.” Jaemin drawls, taking a sip from his large, disgustingly dark coffee. Jeno beside him smiles softly. 

Donghyuck is holding Renjun’s hand atop the table as Mark finally approaches, sliding his chair back and sitting beside Jisung, who’s scribbling something indecipherable on a piece of paper in front of him. He grins at the sight.

Donghyuck always deserved a happy ending to the story he’d been writing for so long, and now he has it.

“I didn’t actually believe Renjun when he said you were coming,” Jisung finally looks up from his paper. “Thought you’d forgotten about Jisung and Company.”

“Jisung and Company?” Jeno kicks at Jisung from under the table, and the youngest snickers under his breath as he scoots in his attempt to escape. “So you’re the main event?”

“Yup!” Jisung snorts, and Donghyuck flicks him.

“ _Welcome back_ , Mark.” Donghyuck slides a cup across the table to him, just as he always has, and Mark smirks at the pink liquid the cup contains. “Got your pink lemonade.”

“Thanks,” He replies with a smile that says more than just that. Donghyuck bounces his eyebrows before turning back to the conversation he’d been having with Jaemin. 

Conversation flows easily between the lot of them, and for a while, nothing feels different; it feels like it had all those months ago, those days before the party and the bite. Just as easily as Mark had begun to lose his grip on his relationship with the other boys around him, he’d slid back in, like a puzzle piece that had been knocked to the floor but brought back to complete the whole image. Jisung’s complaining about his English class, Chenle cosigning, and Jaemin making jokes along the way; Jeno pokes fun at Renjun for an apparent shitty grade he’d gotten on a quiz, and Renjun stabs back with a jab of his own.

That ease Mark had so desperately sought is finally falling back into his grasp.

It goes on like this for at least an hour, Mark getting up at one point to buy another pink lemonade, and as he did, he’d made note of the sun slipping beneath the buildings, leaving nothing but darkness in his wake.

Yet, he felt no need to jump into the danger beyond. For once, Mark was considering himself.

While Mark is checking something on his phone, he feels a little poke on his thigh, a bit aggressive but not to the point where it’s painful. Jeno.

“Can I help you?” Mark snarks, and Jeno grins toothily. 

“Come out to the balcony with me,” Jeno replies, motioning with his head towards the glass doors off to the side of the building. There’s still not many people in the building, much less outside, so Mark shrugs and follows Jeno’s lead as the junior moves to go out. 

By the time Mark brushes through the doors to find Jeno, the younger of the two is already reclining comfortably over the bars at the edge, observing the city with a calm eye. It’s quite dark out, now, and the lights beyond them glitter beautifully.

“Yukhei didn’t come today because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He’s not with Dejun. It was a shit lie.” 

Mark creeps up slowly behind Jeno before assuming the same position over the bars as the other already has.

“I assumed,” Mark says, looking out into the lights. “We aren’t talking.”

Jeno sighs. “What happened between you guys?”

That’s right. Mark hasn’t really told anybody what happened except for Donghyuck. The rest of them had to make their own assumptions, fill in the blanks on their own. He’d been thankful for it, once, but now it just hurts in the tiniest way.

“We kissed,” Mark whispers, and it’s the first time he’s confessing to it with his own mouth.

Out of his periphery, Mark can see Jeno nod slowly. He doesn’t say anything for a while, though, his eyes trained on something in the distant sky.

“Mark, the way you look at him…” Jeno trails off, fiddles with his hoodie strings. “...that's how Jaemin looks at me, y’know? I… I don't want to see either of you guys hurt. You're two of my closest friends, but… you're like each other’s missing halves. The way you just. Fall into each other, know what's wrong without asking, find each other when you need it, that's ... that's love, man. 

“I still remember the first time I met you two. We were… what, seven? Eight? Little shrimps running around on a playground. I fell and hurt myself on the wood chips, you remember? Was on the ground crying like a baby. But suddenly, there’s these two upperclassmen standing in front of me, blocking out the sun. Yukhei held his hand out to me, and you were right there next to him, asking if I was okay. And ever since then, the two of you have been like some kind of inseparable pair. Leaning on each other's shoulders when you need to, without even realizing it half the time. Helping other people, together. What else can I say?”

“Jeno, I-” Mark’s voice is caught in his throat.He still can’t look at his friend beside him “No, it's…”

“You don't love him?” Jeno asks, gently, not even looking in Mark’s direction like he knows doing so would make the older explode into a million pieces.

“No!” He shouts, before lowering his voice. “No, I…”

“You what?”

There are so many things that Mark just keeps to himself, so many things that he’s unwilling to share with the world. Spider-Man had been one of them, for a long time. The carrot story was the kind of thing that stayed between him and Renjun. His feelings for Yukhei…

See, that’s the thing. _His feelings._ That’s what he calls them. Whenever Donghyuck had brought it up in the past, it’s his _Yukhei thing_. But it’s so, so much more than that.

Yukhei had always been there for him, always doing the little things that he’d forget. When Mark would run an exasperated hand through his hair, Yukhei would always be two steps behind, ready to fix him up to _look presentable_ , as he would always say. Once, when Mark had been sore after a particularly annoying day in gym class, his shoe had come untied, and Yukhei, ever the giver, bent down on long legs to tie them up for him again. Or, the time in sophomore year when it had been _kinda_ warm in the morning so Mark had opted not to wear his thickest coat, but _of course_ the universe had decided to make it snow that very same day. Armed with nothing but a small winter cap and his jean jacket, Mark had stepped out into the white, ready for a perilous trek home.

 _You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna let you do that,_ Yukhei had said sternly, yanking the scarf from around his own neck and tying it around Mark’s.

 _“Now your neck is gonna be cold,”_ Mark said back, punching his friend’s shoulder. “ _Here, take my hat.”_

_“Now your head is gonna be cold.”_

_“Nope!”_ Mark had giggled cutely. _“It won’t be. We’ll walk close to each other, how does that sound? And when we get back to my place, you can have your scarf, and I can have my hat. Deal?”_

Mark remembers the way Yukhei had chuckled, as if Mark was unbelievable. It had been such a pure sound, almost as clean and beautiful as the snow beneath their feet. “ _Deal._ ”

That was the day, Mark thinks.

“I love him so bad that it _hurts_.” Mark gasps the words quickly. Saying them out loud for the first time- admitting to himself what he truly feels- brings nothing but a sharp pain in his chest, but now that he's started, the words keep flowing out like a river. “I look at him and I want to kiss him and tell him he’s the best guy in the world, that he's so damn talented and hardworking and that I want to give him everything. He makes me feel _completed_. I just- God.” 

Amidst everything, between years of confusion and pain and hurt, Yukhei had always grounded him. Yukhei had always been there. Since the beginning, it’s been Yukhei. _Yukhei, Yukhei, Yukhei._

“Why don't you?” Jeno sounds so soothing. Mark would hug him if he wasn't sure he would break his bones right now. 

“I can’t.” Mark can't put him in danger. Never.

“Why not?” 

“Because- cause… I. I don't deserve him, Jeno. He's too damn good and I'm too fucked up. I can’t.” 

_I can’t ruin him,_ a piece of him still insists. Another part raises up its voice, retorting with a scathing tone, _he kissed you back, Mark. He cares about you, Mark_.

_I can’t._

* * *

Mark feels exhausted at school the next day, for once not from a patrol.

Even though he’d finally slid his way back into his friend group the night prior, going to the cafeteria in the morning, seeing Yukhei, especially after he’d confessed how he felt to Jeno yesterday, would just feel inappropriate.

(Correction: not inappropriate. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Would force him to face his feelings. He doesn’t want to do that.)

He reaches his locker ten minutes before the first bell rings, repeatedly glancing behind his back as if Yukhei would suddenly appear there any moment to interrogate him.

It’s not Yukhei that appears over his shoulder, though.

“Mark?”

He twists around at the sound of his name, meeting big eyes immediately behind him. Their owner isn’t that tall, and is kind of unassuming; brown locks flop over his forehead, and silver earrings glint in the hallway’s light.

Mark blinks. “You're…”

“Yangyang,” The boy in front of him says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. The grin he wears is bright, incredibly so, with a cute-like edge to it; Mark finds himself perking up at his energetic greeting. 

“Hey, Yangyang.” Mark mutters. His voice is still scratchy from sleep. “I, uh…”

“I’m gonna cut to the chase.” That smile has slipped away from Yangyang’s mouth, and he looks like an entirely different person. Those wide eyes are now less full of happy light and now made up of what seems like fire; the switch is almost terrifying.

Mark pays attention. 

“You came to my party with Yukhei, all those months ago.” 

Mark nods at the authoritative tone.

“Yukhei ditched you for a while.”

Another nod.

“Because he was talking to me.”

Mark nods yet again, more sheepish than anything else.

“It took him a long time for a reason, Mark. he didn't bring you with him to say ‘hi’ because he didn't want me to _embarrass_ you, whatever that means. Yukhei had spent _weeks_ trying to figure out a way to get the two of you out of the fucking house for once.

“So he came to me, the team’s resident party-thrower. And he told me to do what I do the best.”

Mark doesn't like where this is going.

“I'm overstepping here, probably. But I can't watch him pout for one more fucking second. Mark, that party was for _you_. He dressed up for _you_. He spent twenty minutes freaking out in my bedroom over how he would confess to _you_.”

Yangyang pants at the end of his rant, all of the words he’s just spoken now bouncing about in Mark’s skull. They don’t make sense to him at all, really; all the convincing he’s done, all he’s done to tell himself that Yukhei can’t like him back because he _shouldn’t_ like him back. Mark thinks of all the times he’s run away from Yukhei, but then he thinks of _kissing_ Yukhei, but then he’s thinking about running away once again.

His mind is really stuck on the _running away_ part of it all. 

Yangyang seems to sense this.

“Mark-” He starts, but he’s already backing away. Mark’s body is running in emergency mode, running on its backup motor that isn’t supposed to be in use _unless in absolute peril_. Mark feels like he’s in crisis. His spidey-sense is tingling in every single corner of his body. 

_Oh_ , Mark thinks. _I’m running away again_.

* * *

**donghyuck**

Where the hell are you 

**You**

i left

I had to leave

**donghyuck**

? where are you going

mark 

Mark lee where are you going?

 **You  
**I’m gonna go on patrol

**donghyuck**

it’s a friday morning what the hell is wrong with you  
mark you can’t do this you’re gonna get in trouble and theyre gonna call johnny

mark 😭

Seriously if you’re going out there don’t do anything dumb.

 **You  
**i won’t

* * *

Mark isn’t very good at keeping promises.

He throws himself into the sky on a thin web, letting the momentum and the winds carry his lithe form from building to building. He’s trying to go anywhere that’s not his school, anywhere that’s not Yukhei. He swings and swings until he doesn’t even remember what he’s doing, until his muscles just start making the motions on their own.

Mark ends up atop a building miles away from his origin, up so far that the air feels thin, and breathing becomes difficult. 

And that’s where he stands, far away. But he can never escape his own feelings, that which belongs to his own heart. He can’t escape the dreams that have come and gone, really just snippets of memories, his brain trying its absolute best to torture him with recollections of Yukhie’s hands, of Yukhei’s smile, of his warm hugs, of his kisses. Mark is so _tired_ of running, especially when he can’t even remember _why_. 

The stagnancy is letting him think again. He leaps from the rooftop, and lets his webs carry him somewhere else.

* * *

**donghyuck**

It’s been a couple of hours

are you okay? the others are wondering

mark seriously answer me

Mark lee

 _lee minhyung_.

* * *

**Johnny**

The school called me

Where the hell are you?

I thought we promised that you wouldn’t do this anymore.

Mark Lee I swear if you dont pick up this phone in the next minute next time i see you…

Mark.

* * *

**chenle**

hyuck and renjun are really worried about you? What’s going on

mark :(

* * *

**Ten**

Your brother is worried sick.

I don’t know what’s going on. I thought it got better. Was I wrong?

Please answer somebody.

* * *

The world is fuzzy.

Mark can’t make sense of anything, really. His body feels like it’s falling apart, and every time he opens his eyes, he has to slide them shut again because it’s too bright to keep on staring.

He fell, he thinks. Out of the sky. He’d been stupid, too distracted. Struck his head on a metal beam, and now he’s become Icarus, fallen through a roof and beneath a pile of rubble that had fallen down after him.

Darkness is starting to fill the corners of his vision again, and his head is starting to loll back. He feels something trickle over his nose beneath the mask. He can’t reach up and tug it off, not with his body feeling as weak as it does. He’s probably concussed, a broken rib or two.

Mark has fought people. Violent people. Skilled people. Armed people. This is how he falls? Because he’s _stupid,_ because he can’t pay attention? 

He wants to cry.

 _Don’t try to shoulder the world’s pain_ , his mother’s voice rings in his ears for the first time in a long, long while. _Because in the end, you’ll just hurt yourself._

Yourself.

Mark falls limp.

* * *

Donghyuck is panicked. 

After an hour without a response from Mark, he’d tried his hardest to shrug it off. Convinced himself that Mark was probably off being irresponsible, as he always was, and that he would call back eventually.

That nonchalance left him as that hour stretched into two. Three. Four. And before he knew it, the final bell for the day was ringing. 

Panic starts to fill his veins like water into a fish tank. He tries to shoot off another text message to Mark, but he hasn’t even read the ones that he’d sent earlier. He tries to call him, but there is- of course- no answer to that, either.

Donghyuck, for once, doesn’t know what to do. There’s no jokes to be made, no brightness left in him, no _anything_. 

His phone dings in his pocket. Quickly, he yanks it back out, for a moment thinking that Mark has finally responded to his desperate messages, but it’s his boyfriend, asking for updates.

 _none_ , he replies. _there’s nothing_. 

‘Nothing’ is such a scary word. Despite the fact that it’s supposed to mean _the absence of things_ , _the presence of not a thing at all_ , it carries a massive weight; when there’s nothing, no leads to create even a thought, no hints that could even give him an idea, Donghyuck is _terrified._

“Donghyuck,”

There’s suddenly a voice coming from his side, low in the silence of the hallway. He jumps at the noise, looking for the source of the sound, and jumping again at its owner.

“Yukhei,” He breathes. 

This is the one that’s the source of all tension, Donghyuck thinks. The topic of his and Mark’s conversation when deciding that secrecy was the best route. The one that Mark thinks of when he thinks _protect_.

 _It must’ve been fate,_ Mark had said. Fate is a dangerous game.

“Tell me what’s going on, Donghyuck,” Yukhei’s voice is shaking with the force just speaking requires. “Please.”

“Yukhei-”

Yukhei’s face is red, and so are his eyes, not from just the nerves; Donghyuck can see the stains on his face, dried white against his cheeks, a road to the puffy eyes that wait at their origin. For as long as this has been tearing Mark apart, it must’ve been doing the same thing to Yukhei, not knowing what’s wrong, not knowing how to help-

“I know Mark is Spider-Man, Hyuck. I know he is. So stop playing with me, stop pretending that everything is okay when it's not.” Yukhei talks like he has bubbles in his throat, threatening to contain his voice there. 

Donghyuck is stunned into silence.

“You…” Donghyuck blinks huge eyes back at Yukhei. “You knew?”

Huh.

“I've known since that very first time he saved me, Hyuck. But now isn't the time. What's going on? Where the hell is he?”

They have no time to discuss the little things, the things he knows that they want to talk about. 

Donghyuck shakes his head to clear the thoughts there, running an anxious hand through his hair and stuttering a few times before he finally manages to force some words out. “I… I really don’t know. He came to school earlier, I know he did, but then he wasn’t in chem. He said he left to go do a patrol. God,” Donghyuck now lifts up both of his hands to cradle his forehead. His eyes are red, he knows they are. “I think he’s hurt, Yukhei. He would've called me by now, after this long, and-”

“Hey.”

Yukhei bends down a little bit to meet Donghyuck’s eyes better. That fear that had been there is gone now, replaced now with something else. Determination, he thinks. Determination to find Mark. To save him. To protect him.

Mark and Yukhei are far more alike than they could ever admit to one another.

“Let's go find him. I know where to start.”

* * *

Mark is cold.

No shit he’s fucking cold. It’s the middle of December, he’s just fallen multiple stories, and he’s pretty sure that snow was in the forecast. He twitches his arm, trying to force it to move, to rest on his torso in search for warmth in any way that he can get, even from his own body.

It doesn’t work, even as he gets it to shift and shift until it lies on his stomach. Mark feels resigned, at this point, and his body has the same idea. Who’s gonna look for him in this abandoned building, when even he doesn’t know where he is?

Is he gonna die here?

He thinks of Johnny, then, of his brother who would lose the only family he has left after losing and losing for his entire life. He thinks of Donghyuck, who would probably blame himself, of Renjun, Chenle, Jisung, Jaemin, and Jeno. He curses under his breath, curses the fact that he might never see the day that Jisung and Chenle finally get over themselves. 

Finally, he thinks of _Yukhei._  
  
That sets off a bit of a fire in the burned out campfire of his chest, but there’s barely anything left to keep the flames going.

If he lets his eyes shut, will they ever open again?

No use in thinking about that, now. They’re sliding shut of their own accord, and he has no control over it, no control over anything anymore. His body is weakening, and the embers of that fire in his heart are dwindling, until there’s three, until there’s two, one, and then _nothing_.

He forfeits the fight.

“Hey!”

 _No,_ that bonfire seems to say. _I’m still here._

“Hey!” 

There’s the sound of the debris around him getting pushed off, getting thrown, the sound of rocks as whomever called out for him moves closer and closer and closer until Mark can practically feel them on top of him. Suddenly, there’s loud breath next to his ears, ringing in his skull, and the feeling of a warm body.

“Hey now. Wake up. Don’t close your eyes, you hear me?” 

Mark can’t disobey the words being spoken. His eyes slide open, slowly, slowly.

“You found me,” Mark whimpers weakly, the task feeling monumental in his weakened state, those three words making feel as if he’s run three marathons back to back with barbells weighing his body down. But as he lets his eyes open, that exhaustion flows from his form.

The sun shines from the sky above, yet its beams feel cold and weak as they beat down on Mark’s weakened body. But there’s another sun, one sat right in front of him, one that Mark can’t take his eyes off of, no matter how hard he tries.

“Of course I did,” Yukhei whispers. “Spider-Man always winds up in the same place.”

 _You’re the sunflower_ , Mark reminds himself. _You turn to where the sun is the brightest_.

Yukhei glances up to the broken ceiling, where there’s pieces of wood and tiling dangling from above. “The building across the street from my apartment building has been under construction for at least a year. I think that’s a pretty good hiding spot when you wanna sneakily keep an eye on somebody.”

One of Yukhei’s hands reach up to tug the mask from where it disconnects from the suit as his neck, but Mark uses his small amount of energy to feebly protest. Yukhei scoffs, and Mark lets him pull the fabric all the way off of his face.

It should feel tremendous. Spider-Man has just had his face revealed to the eyes of an easygoing civilian. Mark should feel like that guy from the Phantom of the Opera, whatever his name is. The Phantom, probably. But he doesn’t. For the first time, Mark feels _seen_ , seen as Mark.

Yukhei presses one of his big hands against Mark’s cold cheek, gently caressing the skin there as if he’s afraid that it’ll break if he's any more aggressive with his movements. Mark leans into it, trying to seek comfort from its warmth, but it's to no avail. He knows his entire body is shaking. Yukhei knows it too, from the look of pure desperation in his eyes, but there's something else hidden behind that stark emotion; something that Mark, for a moment, cannot place. When he does, though, he’s unable to stop himself from opening his mouth, even though he knows he’ll lose the energy he needs to stay awake.

“You knew.” 

It isn't a question, really. Yukhei’s eyes soften even more somehow, and Mark knows his inquiry to have been proven true.

“You're not as subtle as you think you are,” Yukhei’s voice is quiet, but it still rings in Mark’s ears. Yukhei shuffles closer to his unmoving form so that his knees are pressing close to the side of Mark’s abdomen, trying to be touching Mark in as many ways as possible. “I didn't tell Spider-Man that my name is Xuxi, since I introduced myself as Yukhei. But he just knew, that day.” He shuffles again. “You know, I don't know if Spider-Man would've been on the verge of tears seeing some normal high school kid get mugged.”

Yukhei continues, his voice uncertain. “I waited a while for you to tell me, before I realized that your stubborn ass never would.” For a moment, his voice sounds as if it's been obscured by clouds. “You don't have to protect me.

“I've known for so long, but I didn't confront you. I almost did, the day that we… But I…. I just wanted to hear it from you. I didn't want to force you to tell me.”

Mark shuts his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. Despite all of his best efforts, he still let vital information slip out of his big dumb mouth. He chuckles, but it's a dry sound, pained. Mark is like a window to Yukhei, always has been and always will be. 

It's then that Mark realizes that even though Yukhei knew from their very first meeting, he still played along in Mark’s little game of masquerade. He waited, patiently, until Mark was ready to confess his identity to him instead of forcing it out of him. 

Yukhei had to watch as Spider-Man started to uproot his entire life, as it tested the bounds of his friendships with others and his familial bonds, never telling another soul, because he didn't want to hurt Mark. That’s what Mark assumes came to a head those few days ago in Yukhei’s bedroom, his very own emotions pulled taut and at their limit. Watching his best friend self-destruct to protect others. 

Distantly, he can feel Yukhei’s other hand reach for his chest, stretching over his ribcage and resting over where Mark’s heart is located. He knows it's pounding hard against his injured ribs, but the pain feels so distant when Yukhei’s the one causing it. There's a tickle of something on his nose, too. 

When he opens his eyes again, there's no weak light for them to adjust to. He’s staring into Yukhei’s eyes- those bright, colorful eyes that somehow always showcase the best of the universe- right above his face. There's worry in them, but something else, too. Something that Mark has tried his hardest not to see, for the best of both of them. Somehow, the light in those bright eyes of Yukhei’s shoots past all of the fog in Mark’s brain and in his heart, fires directly into his soul. The light in Yukhei’s eyes quells the warring emotions in his heart with nothing more than its presence, strong and reassuring despite everything else. Yukhei just moves closer, and when he feels their noses bump together, Mark, for once, just lets it happen.

Yukhei presses his lips to Mark's (which he just _knows_ are chapped, the mask doesn't do them many favors despite the chapstick he always makes sure to apply, especially when he’s getting his ass kicked by a weirdo with a baton) gently, and tilts his head slowly so as to slot their lips together just for a moment. It’s chaste, as it has to be; Yukhei pulls back just as quickly as he’d leaned forward.

When they part, Yukhei moves his head a short distance to rest gently on Mark’s shoulder, his hair tickling Mark’s chin. If Mark had feeling in his arm, he would assuredly have reached up to pet his hair, just like he has always imagined. Vaguely, he registers the slowing of Yukhei’s breath, and the increase in his heart rate. 

Yukhei exhales shakily. He’s nervous, and Mark isn't used to that. Now, he’s begging the universe to let him reach up and hold Yukhei as tight as possible.

“I love you, Mark.” Yukhei says, quietly, his voice rumbling against Mark’s skin with the veiled passion that Mark knows him to show only intimate settings. Mark doesn't think he knows just how much that must've taken Yukhei to say, how much it must've taken him to open his heart so directly and for him to let someone else in. He feels tears prickle in the corners of his eyes. “Have for a while.”

His busted rib hurts a lot less, now. 

“Come on, Xuxi,” Mark mutters, and the boy in question raises an eyebrow. Mark pushes on. “I'm Spider-Man.”

Yukhei lets out an unbelieving snort before descending into a fit of laughter altogether. Mark joins him, but winces when he moves too much. Yukhei immediately snaps back to attention. 

Now, Mark isn’t scared of the words. He isn’t telling them just to Jeno in a fit of panic, or to himself in his dreams.

“I love you too, Yukhei Wong. High school senior. Wannabe model.”

* * *

It takes a long time for Mark to learn how to step back.

He doesn’t give Spider-Man up. He could never do that, not even if he actually wanted to. Because no matter what he does, Spider-Man is a part of him now, has been since he’d spoken to Taeil in the restaurant, since he’d saved Mr. Thomas from the men in the alley.

But he has to step back from those daily patrols, the things that were slowly starting to take his life apart piece by piece until the Mark Lee that lived beneath the mask no longer could breathe. Mark had to take time to _remember_ Mark Lee. And when he did, when he’d allowed himself to consider his own feelings for once, re-becoming himself was easy.

He had help, from the people who knew. He still considered the knowledge of Spider-Man’s identity to be top secret and dangerous, and that meant that he couldn’t go shouting from the rooftops. His tiny circle of Donghyuck, Renjun, Johnny, and Yukhei made him feel safe.

(His heart still flutters when he thinks of Yukhei, no matter how many times they’ve kissed and hugged and held hands.)

Mark allows himself to slide back into his regular life and balance Spider-Man as part of it. 

(Two weeks ago, Johnny had sat him down at their kitchen table, a serious look painted across his brow. Mark had been scared at that point- arm in a cast, sentenced to bed rest for the remainder of the semester- that Johnny would tell him to give Spider-Man up for good. He was ready with a thousand rebuttals and fighting words on the tip of his tongue. But what Johnny had actually said was so far off from that which Mark had convinced himself of that he almost felt ashamed for even thinking about it.

“Mark,” He’d started, and that was never a good sign. He was using his _name_. “We’ve got to talk about something.”

“Okay,” Mark had murmured, slowly. “Are you-”

“I don’t even know why I have to say this, because I think you might be the most oblivious person I’ve ever met.”

Mark gaped. Why had this conversation turned into an insult session. He started to say something in indignance, but Johnny had continued.

“Jaehyun and I are together. Like, _together_ together. And we’ve been for a very long time.”

Mark blinked once, twice. “What?”

“Like, I want to marry him. And I asked him a little while ago, before… all of this. But he got mad at me and said that we can’t get married until you knew about it, of course, that makes sense, right? But then stuff kept happening, and you and I got really distant, and then there was never a good time to tell you. I promise I _tried_ , but you really weren’t listening, and you weren’t paying attention to the hints, and-”

“Johnny!” Mark shouted, slapping his good hand down on the table. “Johnny. Are you like, asking for my blessing?”

Johnny fixed Mark with a look so incredulous that Mark wished he had taken a picture. “No-”

“You’re totally asking for my blessing. Yes, you can marry Jaehyun.”

“I’m not asking for your blessing. Why do I need my brat brother’s blessing?”

“Because my opinion _matters_ , and where you go, I go!” 

“That’s not how this works. That’s not how anything works.” 

At that point, Mark had realized that perhaps Johnny was right on the whole obliviousness front. He’d missed a lot of signs, now that he really thinks about it. Like that time in the restaurant, or the fact that Jaehyun treated their apartment like his own home and Johnny apparently did the same to Jaehyun’s. Or maybe that time Jaehyun had walked out of Johnny’s room in Johnny’s shirt and boxers.

Mark was sickened by the last one, just a little bit. He’d shivered.)

That wasn’t the only loose end, either.

Mark had made a twitter account. Not as _Mark Lee_ , but as _Spider-Man_. He really had no choice, being out of commission the way that he was. 

All the good usernames had been taken, swiped up by various fans. Mark, in the end, was stuck with @SP1DER-MAN, which he thought was ugly as hell, but Donghyuck disagreed.

“It’s cute,” He’d said. “Like, original.” Donghyuck does not know the definition of _originality_. 

**chenle** @spyderman  
@SP1DER-MAN CAN I GET A SHOUT OUT

<in reply to @spyderman

 **jisung** @pjisung 

lmaoooo

 **jisung** @pjisung 

@SP1DER-MAN hi my best friend is a big fan his name is chenle can you say hi

_Your best friend, huh, Jisung?_

<in reply to @pjisung

 **Spider-Man** @SP1DER-MAN

Hi Chenle!

<in reply to @pjisung and @SP1DER-MAN

 **chenle** @spyderman 

WHAT THE FUCK?

fineas and pherb 

_8 people_

**chenle**

LOG ONTO TWITTER RIGHT FUCKING NOW

**jaemin**

Omg he’s gonna like piss his pants

 **jeno**

Nice grand gesture can you guys go out now?

**chenle**

huh?

jisung doesn’t want to go out with me

**renjun**

He definitely does

**donghyuck**

what he said

**jisung**

i want to go out with you

**chenle**

oh. 

I didn’t think you would want to

**jisung**

I’ve like always wanted to

**chenle**

oh

Are we like dating then

**jisung**

I mean i hope so

**jeno**

jesus fucking christ just text each other

As Donghyuck had so foretold all those weeks ago, they’d become _four_. 

Mark is still quite giddy that he gets to call Yukhei his boyfriend, that he’s allowed to kiss him on the cheek and hold his hand when he wants to, when he _needs_ to.

(Mark applied for NYU.

“I probably won’t even get in,” Mark had muttered, but a tug on his ear from Yukhei had quieted him quickly. 

“Don’t talk like that. And even if it’s true, at least you _tried_. You always have to try, Mark.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He’d said, looking down and rubbing at Yukhei’s thigh from where they were tangled on Mark’s living room couch. Johnny had let him stay over with a promise of no ‘funny business,’ and Mark had hurled a baby carrot at his face.

“Hey,” Yukhei called from his side. When Mark didn’t look up at his voice, he’d felt a finger under his chin, lifting his head up so that the two of them were staring into each other’s eyes. “I’m proud of you, no matter what.”

“I know,” Mark murmured, but Yukhei leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Mark’s lips.

“Love you,” Yukhei whispered, like it was their little secret that only they could tell to each other.

“Love you more,” Mark replied, knowing his face was as red as a cherry. Yukhei knew it too, if his little chuckle gave anything away.)

It feels like a decade has passed since Mark and Yukhei had strode into Yangyang’s house, two unsuspecting kids none the wiser to the future that awaited them. They’d both changed so much since that day, since the spider, since Mark became _somebody new_. Because even though Mark had indeed morphed into a different person, it isn’t necessarily for the worse.

Because he’d _learned_. Better yet, he’d remembered. Remembered what he always should have carried with him, his mother's words that she so generously gave out, fingers brushing Mark’s hair, brushing his cheek. 

_Love others with no bounds_ , she would say. _But never forget to love yourself, too_.

When he looks at Yukhei, he knows that his overflowing heart has no bounds. His heart is one that was made to love, but at the same time, it needed love to beat; when it ran out from hours and hours of beating for others, it needed a boost.

Mark stands above the city, the city that’s so much bigger than he is, but doesn’t feel alone, nor even remember how that even feels.

He’s Spider-Man, but he’s Mark Lee, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you made it through! welcome to the end.  
> I've never finished anything before. like ever. i can never get my thoughts in order enough to make a coherent story, yet this time, i managed to do it. i wanna thank everyone who pushed me like hell until i got here, the ones who encouraged me especially sinai and lia and dani. this goes out to everybody who took the time to read my thoughts and feelings. I'm so thankful.
> 
> btw... is this really the end? we'll see about that.
> 
> twt @jyangender
> 
> [edit 10.11.20] hello so a sequel is officially in the works and i'm also doing edits on this bc some of it is making me angry! in terms of the next story... think of this as a hero origin story? hehe i'll see you soon

**Author's Note:**

> yayyyy u made it through!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed it even though its practically just a preview to like. the actual story... i put a lot of work into it though and I appreciate every comment I receive it warms my heart truly
> 
> i tried a different approach with this fic than mmcmb because multichaptered fics are not my specialty. as you can see. so i practically finished the entire story before uploading this prologue. 
> 
> everyone stay safe and healthy!!
> 
> [wip story playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2zi9CeuTa5UBwUSfhoMI3n?si=wBgOT_nMSoO0J9IiT4oz9g)


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